


Human Error

by thejabberwock



Series: Error Verse [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arguing, Artificial Intelligence, Asexuality, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fucking, Jealousy, M/M, Making Up, POV Alternating, Relationship Negotiation, Romance, Sexuality, Slow Build, identity crisis, self awareness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 86,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwock/pseuds/thejabberwock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>007 is the perfect assassin, an artificial intelligence with the ability to think for itself. Human emotions were never meant to be part of its programming, and Q was never meant to be anything more than its creator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [procoffeinating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procoffeinating/gifts).



> Thanks to KingJulian for the inspiration, input and encouragements.

~00Q~

Smiling to himself, Q stands back to admire his creation.

“There we are,” he says, though the workroom is empty of his staff. It’s well past midnight.  “You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?”

He receives no answer, of course. The artificial life form hasn’t yet been switched on—the speech algorithms still need to be tested. There’s no reason not to do it now, preferable actually since there’s no one around to witness potential problems.

Most of his staff are not entirely comfortable with the special project, not understanding the benefits artificial intelligences could have—on a global scale. Not only as weapons, as this one will be. Any number of dangerous or unwanted jobs could be replaced by an android. Freeing humans from drudgery and peril.

“Just think of what humans could accomplish,” Q murmurs as he rechecks the processors. “If they were free to pursue their interests, rather than wasting their time making tea. Not you, of course. You’re a highly trained weapon, not a maid. Or you will be, once I switch you on.”

He sits back, smiling again as he studies the android’s face. The blue eyes so carefully chosen, the pink lips and subtle variations in its hair color, the grey blended in perfectly with blond. There are even lines in its face. When it smiles, no one will be able to resist its charm.

Which is, of course, necessary for a field agent.

Q runs his palm over the unit’s shoulder, down its arm—tailored to be smooth and muscular, a near perfect physical specimen. Just as a human agent would be. There are scars scattered across its chest, an added touch that makes it look more human; and like an experienced agent rather than a pup, wet behind the ears.

Q takes a moment to trace one of the scars, just over the unit’s right pectoral. It’s a starburst, facsimile of a gunshot wound. Given the fact that this model is bulletproof—as they have been since 004—it’s an irony that makes Q grin.

He continues his exploration, over the contoured planes of the simulated abdominal muscles, over its left hip—another scar there as well, this one shaped vaguely like a Q. A minor addition that serves as a signature, of sorts. Meaningless to anyone but him, but he enjoys it all the same.

He wonders if this is how artists feel.

Q drops into a crouch, examining the detail of the android’s legs, the soft hair and chiseled calves. Even its toes are indistinguishable from a human’s.

Sitting back on his heels, Q lifts his face—right on level with the penis Q molded so carefully with his hands. Modeled after one he found online when it proved too strange to use his own. It was complicated beyond aesthetic appeal; the unit has to be able to achieve an erection when needed. For the times when an agent uses seduction as part of its arsenal.

M deemed it necessary, and Q didn’t object. Took great care with this part of the android’s anatomy. And the programming, which will allow its central processors to send a signal when an erection is needed.

He’s rather proud of that bit of engineering.

And if the unit had the ability to feel emotion, it would be as well, Q thinks. Eighteen centimetres, fully erect. A sizeable pair of bollocks to match.

Satisfied, Q straightens. Everything is just as it should be, nothing out of place. Human-like in every way.

No visible points of entry for wires, no panel; only a hidden access port in its navel. A significant improvement to 006, and one which will allow this model to do its job without suspicion. It also means less chance of corruption since Q is the only one with access to its program; via his computer.

One last inspection of that program and it’s time for a test run.

“Now, not to worry if it doesn’t go smoothly at first,” Q hums as he looks through the algorithms on his computer screen one more time. “We’ll sort you out, and there’s always a period of adjustment. There we are, just let me…” With his stomach fluttering nervously, Q begins the activation sequence and then steps back to watch his creation come to life.

The activation is without fanfare, but Q holds his breath anyway. Lets it out again when the unit’s chest expands, just slightly. But it’s enough that Q knows the mechanical lungs are online, and functioning as they should, simulating the breathing rate of a man at rest.

Q reaches out to place a palm on the unit’s chest, heady with the rush of success as he feels the steady echo of its artificial heart. Fifty-two beats per minute.

He smiles with delight and when he looks up, he finds blue eyes watching him. It startles him enough that he’s rendered temporarily speechless. These are the eyes of a machine, made to look flawlessly human. They do, down to the blond eyelashes and the etched lines at the corners.

“Hello,” Q greets, and the unit blinks, in response to the processers whirring to life. Programmed to respond to stimuli.

“Hello.” The response is automatic, no lag time as the unit sorts through data to find the correct response.

Q feels like his face might split from his excitement. “I’m Q,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m the quartermaster at MI6—that’s where we are and I’m the one who created you. I’ve been working for years and— ” He cuts himself off with a laugh. “Never mind that. I’m Q,” he starts again. “Your designation is—”

“007,” the deep voice interjects; the voice Q worked so hard to perfect. It sounds exactly like a self-assured agent should. Confident and charming. The unit is even smiling.

“That’s right,” Q tells him. “007, although that’s only your designation when you’re in the field—on a mission. You have a human name as well, and it’s—”

“Bond,” the unit says easily, with a bit of what Q hopes will be its signature smirk. “James Bond.”

“Yes.” Still smiling Q says, “But we’ll have to work on the interrupting. Although that could simply be part of your personality algorithms. I programmed you to be aggressive when necessary but perhaps not so much that people can’t finish their sentences…” Q waves that aside. “We’ll sort it out. For now I’d like to run through some tests—the entire battery actually and we should probably find you some clothes. You have an entire army of people to meet in the morning—”

The unit frowns. “Although I'm programmed to fight enemies of MI6, I’ll need reinforcements in order to engage an entire army. There are several agents available—”

“Hm, okay… colloquialisms, another algorithm to add.” And the unit’s speech patterns will need to be tweaked as well. It's programmed to learn as it goes so Q hopes it will simply need more experience with conversations. “An army of people, in this case, anyway, is just an expression. It means you’ll have an audience. The head of MI6 for one and most of my minions. And then there’s Tanner and Moneypenney, and honestly most of the department heads. They are going to love you.”

“I’m not familiar with that word,” the unit says. Its head tilts with confusion.

Smiling at the imitation of a human trait, Q says, “It’s an emotion, an algorithm you haven’t been programmed with.”

“My program includes references to many different emotions,” the unit corrects and Q wonders if he’s built its personality algorithm too far on the side of arrogance. “Anger, pride and lust are three common examples.”

“Er, yes, I know. But those you’ll need to understand—or at least be able to categorize during missions.”

“Why is love different?”

Q considers that. “Love has to do with romance, and romance—”

“Romance is part of my programming,” the unit tells him as though he needs the reminder. “A subroutine of my seduction algorithm.”

“Right. Well, I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“I will access the informational databanks within my program.”

“If you like, but since you’re an artificial intelligence, rather than a human, love isn’t something you’ll need to understand.”

The unit is quiet for a few seconds, the time it needs to process whatever data it has selected as relevant. And then the unit's eyes focus on Q once more and it says, “This information is necessary to my function as a special agent for MI6.”

Surprised at the assessment, Q asks, “Why?”

“According to my research, love is not merely a symptom of romance, but a motivation for many human decisions, including ones which compromise others. It is often the motivation behind violence. And since I've been programmed to inhibit violence in my targets, it's essential that I have the ability to understand love as a possible stimulus.”

Q ignores the way his chest puffs with pride that the unit is doing what it’s designed to do—analyse its environment and make decisions based on that analysis. “You’re right,” he says. “And very well reasoned. I’ll put it on my list.”

“List?”

For a second Q thinks the unit is asking for a definition but it seems to have picked up on Q’s one-word query of a moment ago and adjusted accordingly. Far more advanced than even 006 was. Q finds it difficult to refrain from rubbing his hands together in glee. “I keep a mental list of all the modifications your program needs. Speech patterns are another. You sound too much like me,” he explains a bit wryly. Too verbose by far. “Clothes for now though. I think M would be a bit put off to find you naked. Come with me.”

The unit follows him seamlessly to the cupboard, programmed to obey Q’s orders first and foremost. It was a point of argument between him and M. Agents, after all, are under her purview well before they’re under the quartermaster’s. But Q has done nothing but eat, sleep and dream his double ohs, and especially this one. He knows it better than he knows any of his other equipment.

Knowing very well there was no one else who could do what she was asking of him, M was persuaded.

“Clothes suitable for a special agent of MI6,” Q says as he opens the door. “Dinner jackets and suits, tailored perfectly to your measurements. Too formal for my tastes, but M insisted. She seems to think it’s imperative for her operatives to look like they’re on their way to a casino in Montenegro. Casual clothes as well.” Q takes out one of the jumpers he selected and holds it up to the unit’s chest. “Blue suits you.”

The unit doesn’t take the clothing, which makes sense since it feels no urgent need to cover itself—no embarrassment or shame.   Naked or clothed makes no difference to an android.

“For now,” Q says, carefully putting the jumper back on its rack. “Just trousers. We want our audience to see how real you look—muscles contoured exactly as a human’s would be. And your scars.” He touches the starburst, and the unit’s eyes follow his hand.

“Your cheeks are raised,” the unit startles him into looking up. It's studying him. “And the corners of your lips are raised diagonally. An expression of happiness?”

It takes a moment for Q to realise the unit is reading his tells, one of the most important skills of a field agent—especially one given the most dangerous assignments, as M hopes to give this unit. “I am happy,” Q agrees. “You’re the most advanced of the artificial life forms I’ve created. A marvel of engineering, to be honest. You’ve read me very well, but it won’t do to recite tells out loud when you’re in the field. Best to read people and act rather than announce. Do you understand?”

The unit raises one eyebrow, the product of that arrogance again, as it answers, “Yes.”

“Good. Trousers, then.” Q selects a pair, one of the tailored ones; charcoal with grey pinstripes. And a black belt to match. “Put those on, please.”

It’s a bit distracting to watch the unit step into the trousers, although it’s a silly reaction. But the unit’s bollocks are swaying with the motion and Q decides it’s been far too long since he’s had a decent fuck.

Perils of spending your nights with an artificial intelligence rather than a flesh and blood human being.

The unit’s hands are working perfectly, tucking and zipping and fastening without any noticeable fumbling. The unit buckles the belt last and Q finds it difficult to stop staring.

Involuntary stimulus, nothing more. And the unit can’t mind being ogled so he doesn’t bother to restrain himself. “Physical tests next,” Q tells it. “Strength first.” He glances around the room. “Something heavy for you to pick up. That desk, perhaps. There’s nothing breakable on it.”

Without being asked directly, another point of glee, the unit dutifully places a hand beneath the desk and lifts it without effort. “Too easy,” Q murmurs. He has to direct the unit to put it down again and it does so with a bit of a clatter; Q winces. “Something a bit heavier—”

He starts as the unit latches onto his biceps and lifts him off the floor. Q stares down at it, his feet scissoring in panic but the unit seems to find no effort in this either and its grip is steady. But Q’s voice still comes out squeaky when he says, “Erm... put me down, please?”

Obliging, the unit sets him on the floor, but carefully Q notes. Different to the incautious way it replaced the desk.

Q straightens his jumper. “Don’t do that again, please.” The unit is studying him—Q knows because he’s programmed curiosity to be demonstrated through the slight narrowing of its eyes.

“I’ve frightened you,” the unit says. “Your heart rate is elevated and your pupils are thirty-five percent larger than they were before I lifted you.”

“I wasn’t expecting it. And humans typically don’t enjoy being manhandled like that.”

The unit studies him for a moment longer before nodding. “I will keep that in mind when I engage my enemies.”

Startled, Q laughs at the wry tone—copied no doubt from Q’s earlier timbre. Including the little twist to the unit’s lips. By leaps and bounds, this unit will far exceed its predecessors.

“Yes, do,” he says just as he’s interrupted by his mobile chiming from where it sits on one of the workbenches. It’s the tone he’s programmed for his second-in-command and since she knows not to interrupt him when he’s tinkering with the unit, it can only mean an emergency. He sighs and goes to answer it, and it is an emergency—one of the new agents in dire straits. “I’m on my way. Switch the line over to my—” But she’s a step ahead of him.

Q goes to his computer—the one not filled with the unit’s algorithms—and makes a quick study of the schematics where the agent is trapped.

“Stevens,” Q says calmly, “there’s an access tube about twelve metres down. It will take you directly outside.”

He hears the distinct crackle of gunfire against his ear, but he’s been at this job for years and he doesn’t flinch. “I suggest you hurry, Stevens.” He realises, with a start, that the 007 unit is behind his shoulder, watching the screens with sharp eyes.

“He should use the panel beyond the one you indicated,” it says. “The first will open him to fire from his left.”

Frowning Q, looks carefully at the video feed. “There isn’t anyone over there.”

“There isn’t anyone who can be seen by the camera,” the unit corrects. “He should take cover farther along, where he will be protected on all sides.”

“But there are shooters—”

“Ones that can be picked off easily. And should he need to escape an errant bullet, he'll have a better chance of survival.”

“Who is that?” Q’s second in command asks. But he doesn’t answer. He’s too busy considering the unit’s suggestion. “Stevens,” he says, making his decision, “get to the first access hatch.” There are no shooters there and the vague possibility that some might arrive is not good enough reason to risk Steven’s life.

“That isn’t,” the unit begins.

“Stand down, 007,” Q commands and the unit falls silent immediately. Q watches the screens, sighing in silent relief when he opens the hatch and drops down carefully. There’s a volley of fire as soon as he touches the ground, a grunt of pain from Stevens.

“Shit,” Q mutters. But he’s not down. Not yet. “Damn it," he curses again anyway. "Report, Stevens."

“Q, I think—”

“I’m on my way,” he cuts off his assistant, gathering the computer up as he moves away from the table.

“Shall I accompany you?” the 007 unit asks, already taking a step.

“No,” Q says impatiently and when the unit opens its mouth, whether to argue or question, Q pivots toward its control panel and stabs the shut down sequence. The unit’s mouth closes slowly, its hands falling back to its sides.

Q spares only enough time to log out of the computer for security and leaves, the 007 unit standing, inert, in the middle of the workroom.

\--

The morning comes more quickly than Q would like, but most of the remaining hours of the night are spent trying to fix the mess left by Q’s order. Thankfully, Stevens made it out without life-threatening injuries. Ones that will ground him for several weeks but Q is thankful it wasn’t worse.

He’s being held together by caffeine and willpower as he prepares for M, and the rest of MI6, to descend into his lab. The 007 unit is still standing in the middle of the room while Q runs through another set of diagnostics. Just to be sure there won’t be any other mishaps—although at least these ones won’t break any bones.

“It’s a little unnerving, isn’t it?” a quiet voice asks from behind him, just as he’s activating the unit. Q turns around, smiles a little when he sees Moneypenny. “It looks so real.”

“Wouldn’t be much use if it didn’t.”

She moves in to examine the unit, its face and exposed chest. “Are you sure it’s not a human you’re trying to impress us with?”

The unit raises its eyebrows, no doubt trying to detect the veracity of the query. “I am not human,” it tells her and she blinks in startlement.

“I knew it would be able to talk,” she says. “But…”

“Quite impressive, isn’t it?”

“You are,” she tells him, shaking her head. The awe lifts his spirits. His assistants are starting to drift in, some of the department heads as well and only a few—the assistants who have worked with Q at various stages of the unit’s development—realise the half-dressed android is what they came to see. The department heads continue on with their conversations, oblivious.

Which Q takes as a very good sign since the goal was to make the 007 unit as unobtrusive as possible; to give it the ability to blend in amongst humans.

“Last time I saw it,” one of the assistants is saying, “its eyes weren’t open…”

“Spectacular, isn't it?”

“So life-like.”

They’re prowling around the unit, like one might a statue at a museum, or perhaps more aptly as one might peer at a lion at a zoo. One of them reaches out to stroke the unit’s chest. The unit doesn’t follow the movement, like it did when Q touched it.

Q wonders if there’s something wrong with its motion processors—or the algorithms that allow it to perceive physical touch, necessary if the unit is going to seduce people for information. He makes a note on his mental list to check later and says, “Please don’t touch it.”

The unit shifts its head, so that it’s looking at Q, studying him with those curious eyes.

Even though the assistant withdraws her hand, Q explains, “It’s like a newborn, pulling information from its environment, processing each interaction. I’d like to keep stimuli to a minimum for now.”

“Not much like a newborn, is it?” the minion says with a smirk.

“I thought you would choose a younger template,” another says.

“It doesn’t really matter though, does it?” one of the older ones says. “It's gorgeous and isn’t that the point?”

“I’m not surprised at all,” Moneypenney says quietly, her own smile mischievous. Not sure he wants to know why, Q asks the inevitable anyway. “Because I know your type,” she says. “Older men, with a penchant for doting on you.”

“I… what?”

“More a personal statement than a random killing machine, I’d say.”

“Eve, for god’s sake—”

“Well,” she laughs, “the last man you dated—”

“All right,” he cuts her off at a sharp whisper. But it’s a bit too late. He hears one of his minions muttering, “Daddy kink.” There’s a smattering of laughter, quickly choked off and Q can feel his cheeks heating.

Eve is pressing her fingers over her lips, not trying very hard at all to hide her grin. He glowers at her and glances over at the door, where M is just coming through with Tanner at her side. Thankfully, she didn’t hear a word of that.

The 007 unit is studying Eve, obviously confused by the exchange but no way in hell is Q going to explain that one. Now that he thinks of it though… it may be helpful for a double oh to have a knowledge of sexual kinks.

Another note to return to it later and says, “Come along, 007. I’d like to introduce you to M. She’s—”

“The head of MI6,” it supplies and Q can’t help but sigh. He really needs to rework that algorithm—again.

“Yes, she is and this entire project was her idea—years ago, before I even worked here but the former quartermaster couldn’t do much beyond build a vaguely lifelike robot. She recruited me especially to do what he couldn’t and you, 007, are the product of our vision.”

He’s smiling, chest puffed out he only realises when 007 says, “Pride. You’re proud.”

“Well, yes,” Q says, not at all inclined to pretend otherwise. “I am proud of myself. You’re a sophisticated piece of technology, the like no one has ever seen. You’re doing quite well, even if there are several adjustments we need to make. That penchant to describe tells, for one.”

“There is no danger in exposing my knowledge of your tells,” the unit points out.

“True.”

“I learn through interactions with my environment. You are my primary teacher at the moment. I would think you'd welcome my observations.”

“Point taken,” Q says with a laugh for the prickly tone the unit is utilizing so well. “Feel free to continue your analyses. But only of me. Others as well, but discuss it with me instead of them. Do you understand?”

“It isn’t necessary to ask me if I understand,” the unit tells him. “My auditory processors are working perfectly.”

Q smiles. The unit frowns. “Amusement,” it states.

“Yes,” Q agrees, but can’t expand since M is coming toward him. She looks startled when she notices the 007 unit.

“M,” he greets her. “This is the 007 unit.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to look so different once it was turned on,” she says.

“Marvelous, isn’t it? It’s not ready to go into the field yet,” he tells her, apologetic. “We have a few bugs to work out. Speech patterns for one. It needs more practice to emulate them properly. At the moment, its speech is too formal and it’s a bit too keen on announcing tells as it dissects them.”

“That won’t work in the field,” M murmurs, studying the unit’s face. It is studying her as well although it’s a lazy examination rather than scrutiny—an algorithm Q thinks he got right. Patterned after one of the men Q used to date, easy-going and just a bit conceited. Older as well, greying just at the temples.

And maybe Q does have a type.

“I’ll keep him with me for a few weeks,” he reroutes to matters at hand. “Allow the unit to observe and then we’ll try a few test runs, out in public until it’s ready.”

“And you’ve had no missteps thus far?”

“None. As you can see, it’s indistinguishable from a human, down to the rate of its breathing and the number of blinks per minute. It’s adapting much faster than I expected. At a rate far exceeding any of its predecessors.”

M nods, still studying the unit. “I expected it to look like the others,” she muses. “But this one’s older, as though it’s been through a war.”

“Yes,” Q agrees. The other models were based on his own predecessor’s work: brown hair, young, the sort of male face that was probably plucked straight from gentlemen’s quarterly.

007 looks nothing like them, but if Q was pressed to describe it there would only be one word: beautiful. It is beautiful. He knows M sees it too. Like Q, she doesn’t seem to want to look away from it, a phenomenon he understands all too well. “I wanted an air of experience about it.”

“Well, you’re certainly delivered that.”

Q smiles. From M, it’s practically gushing. “Thank you. Would you care to see its program? It may help to have the minutiae.

“I’ll ask Tanner to join us.”

Q nods, stepping back to allow her to pass. He turns around, toward his computer, intending to tell the 007 unit to come with him but it’s already following him. Smiling, Q continues on his way.

\--

“This is your home,” the 007 unit says once Q closes the door behind them. It’s a statement rather than a question, a curious habit that Q didn’t intentionally program. He’s only been online for forty-eight hours, and yet its language is already evolving.

M was right to be impressed.

“It is,” Q tells the unit through the smile he can’t seem to wipe from his expression. He looks around the flat, cosy and lived-in, most of the surfaces dotted with equipment he’s brought home from work. “It’s not large but it does the job.”

The 007 frowns a little and Q remembers he hasn’t downloaded enough data on idioms. “It’s an idiom. It means—”

“It works well enough for what it’s intended to do,” the unit finishes for him. “In this case, a place to eat and sleep when you’re not on duty.”

“Which isn’t very often.”

“You’re still smiling,” the unit observes as Q takes off his cardigan. The 007 unit is wearing a jumper chosen by Q. Couldn’t take it in a cab without a shirt.

“Well, I’m still happy,” Q says. He pulls his tie free next, places it carefully over the shoulder of his cardigan and goes into his bedroom to hang it. When he turns around, he finds the 007 unit standing by the bed and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Shit,” he breathes, his heart pounding in surprise. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ve frightened you again,” the unit says, frowning in that curious way it has.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to follow me.”

The unit’s head tilts as it studies Q with its bright blue eyes. “I can refrain from following you unless you request that I do so.”

“No, that’s all right.” Q flexes his neck. He’s stiff from the long hours bent over his lab bench; hazard of the job. “I’ll get used to it. You’re exceptionally quiet when you move.”

“I’m programmed to move with stealth.”

Smiling, Q unbuttons his shirt as he says, “Yes, I know. So, erm… there isn’t anything you need to know. Just the same rules that apply to headquarters: don’t speak to anyone and don’t leave the flat. Unless I’m with you, obviously. I’ll need to test your responses in public first.”

“I’ll be little use as an agent if I am confined to your flat.” There’s a sardonic lilt to the unit’s words.  

“You’re not an agent yet,” Q says crisply. “At least not one cleared for active duty. And that isn’t going to happen until I decide you’re ready.” Q frowns, feeling a little like he’s having an argument. Which is silly since the unit is definitely not programmed to argue. “We’ll have a go at something simple in the morning,” he says, although he’s not sure why he’s telling the unit his plans. “I’ll deactivate you until then.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

As he returns to the other room, Q says, “I won’t be able to monitor you while I sleep.”

“I’m programmed to do as you instruct,” the unit says to his back, and Q tries to decide if he consciously programmed it to behave like a duckling with its mother.

“You’re amused,” the unit informs him as he opens his laptop.

“I’m amused,” Q confirms, but doesn’t elaborate. It wouldn’t understand the reference. The unit is frowning at him, a response Q will need to tweak. A frowning special agent is definitely not what M had in mind when she commissioned it.

“An explanation is necessary,” the unit says, stepping forward to look over his shoulder. “If I’m to understand and assimilate human—”

Q presses the deactivation key and closes the keyboard. When he turns around, the unit is unmoving. Moneypenney would probably find this unnerving as well, the swift change from animated to lifeless. But Q has spent the better part of the past four years with artificial life forms and he simply steps around it and retraces his steps to the bedroom, pulling off his shirt as he goes.

\--

“—behavior,” the 007 unit picks up where it left off when Q activates him in the morning.

“Good morning,” Q says in response and the unit’s eyebrows draw together, a look of confusion that Q can’t help but find amusing. He hopes it will make the same expression in front of Moneypenny; it is certain to give her further pause.

“You deactivated me,” the unit states, after a glance around the flat, at the sunlight creeping through the blinds.

“As I said, there’s no reason for you to be activated when I’m sleeping. Our first task should probably be food,” Q decides, ready to move on to more important things. “Come into the kitchen.”

The unit obeys, following along in his wake. Q wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. Like having a shadow. A shadow that just happens to be a highly-trained assassin.  

If Q didn’t trust his own abilities so completely, he would probably think better of showing it his back.

“Digestion wasn’t nearly as difficult to work out as some of your other systems—”

“The ability of my penis to achieve an erection being one,” the unit helpfully cuts in.

“Er, yes. But as I was saying, M and I felt it was important that you should be able to consume food and drink. You’ll blend in more completely, and you may need to dine with… say, a companion…”

“As part of a seduction sequence,” the unit continues for him, “one partner—in this case, I would be that partner—often buys dinner for the other in order to secure sexual cooperation.”

Q blinks. “Erm… I don’t think that’s exactly right.”

“Technically or colloquially?”

“Sorry?”

“The seduction scenarios you’ve downloaded into my databanks often begin with the consumption of food or beverages.”

“Yes, but it isn’t considered good manners to say that… actually, I’m not the best person to discuss this with.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t seduce people for a living. Or for information, which is what you’ll be doing. One of the other field agents would be better equipped to discuss this.” He feels his nose wrinkle at the thought. “Silva’s technique is legendary.”

“Shall I ask his advice?”

“I suppose you’ll have to,” Q says, dubious despite the necessity. He hardly thinks Silva is equipped to give another human being advice, let alone to a weaponised blank slate. But Q wouldn’t even know where to begin. He says as much as he selects a tea blend.

“You don’t employ seduction scenarios?” the unit asks and Q pauses in his tea-making to squint at him. The unit considers him. “The files weren’t compiled from your own experiences.”

Q has no idea why the observation should make his cheeks hot. “It’s not that I don’t have experiences…” Why is he even explaining this to an android? “Look, it’s not that. It doesn’t matter. Silva will know better what your program needs. Sit down and we’ll try tea.”

The unit sits at the table, hands folded on the table, and with an expectant look on its face. The expression seems slightly sarcastic, Q thinks. Part and parcel of the superiority complex that all agents have. Even if it wasn’t meant to pertain to tea, Q is rather pleased with how its personality comes through.

“A cup and spoon,” he says as he places both in front of the unit.

“I’m aware of the names for common household items.”

“Oh, of course you are.” Q had this habit with the other units as well, but none of them ever corrected him. He pours the tea for the unit and says, “You probably already know this as well, but when you dine, you’ll need to make choices. Some of them I’ve programmed, but the nuances—”

The unit picks up the cup and blows across the top, just like a human would and even though Q is used to his units doing human things, it still startles him. It’s not something he programmed.

“How did you know to do that?” he asks. “Blowing on the tea to cool it?”

“I am accessing the files associated with tea-making rituals, several of which include videos.”

“Oh.” And all without a word of encouragement from Q. He is smiling like an idiot as he watches the unit sip the tea. Its throat moves as it swallows, just as it should. Another small sip and the unit replaces the cup on the table.

“My digestive components are in working order,” it says, watching Q.

Q grins and takes a sip of his own tea. “Toast next,” he decides, turning for the bread.

“You have a pet,” the unit says as he places a slice into the toaster. Q glances over his shoulder, follows its gaze to the small dishes beside the door. Purple with little white paw prints.

“No, actually,” he says, a hard knot forming in his throat as he turns back to the toast.

“The design on the dishes, as well as the size, indicate—”

“I know what they indicate,” Q cuts in gruffly. “But I don’t have one, okay?”

The unit doesn’t reply, and Q concentrates on spreading marmalade on the toast.

“You’re angry,” the unit says just as he’s setting the knife down. Q grimaces, but not explaining emotions to it isn’t really an option. Not if he wants it to function as it should in the field.

“I’m not,” Q tells it as he comes to sit across from the unit at the table. “I’m sad, I suppose. I used to have a pet—a cat,” he explains. “Her name was Lily. She died a few months ago and I guess I’m not ready to get rid of her things.”

Her toys are still in the little basket where they’ve been kept for years beside the television.

The unit’s head tilts as he processes the words. “If they elicit sadness, why do you keep the dishes?”

Q smiles a little, and not a happy one which probably only confuses the unit even more. “They don’t make me sad. I just… I miss her. I didn’t program you to understand grief—”

“Another oversight,” the unit interrupts.

Q studies it with narrowed eyes but doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He can make the leap for himself. “Because it could be a motivation for violence, just like love. You’re right. And now, time for toast.”

He pushes the plate across the table and obediently, the unit picks up the toast.

\--

“It looks a little old to be an agent.”

The unit’s eyes flick to Silva, who is studying it with disapproval.

“My appearance has no bearing on my ability to be an effective assassin.”

Silva smiles, an expression that never fails to send unease crawling up Q’s spine. “On the contrary,” he says, circling slowly around the unit, glance straying over its arse, so well-outlined in the trousers Q chose. “Your appearance has everything to do with it.”

“Indulge me,” the unit says in that dry tone it’s adopted so well. Q smiles behind his hand as he watches surprise light Silva’s eyes. The surprise quickly changes to calculation.

“Agents use their bodies,” he says, voice softening a little, “to get what we want. But you’ll do that very well, won’t you… As handsome as you are…” He trails a finger over the unit’s chest.

“Please don’t touch it,” Q says automatically, just like he said to his assistant the first time and just like he’s said a dozen times over to anyone else who’s tried in the last few days.

The unit turns its head to look at him, and so does Silva. He looks amused. “You asked me to teach the new 007 unit the art of seduction, did you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes,” Silva speaks right over him. “You did. I can hardly do that from a distance, wouldn’t you agree, Quartermaster?”

“I didn’t ask you to demonstrate your techniques,” Q responds in the same snide tone, spine straightening. Technically, he’s the agent’s superior and he has no problem with reminding him. Silva, however, isn’t chastened.

“Instruction without demonstration won’t be effective.” He stretches out his fingers again, to trace the unit’s collarbone.

The 007 unit’s fingers curl around his wrist before he can make contact.  

“Q instructed you not to touch me,” it says blandly. Silva blinks and then he laughs softly as he tugs his arm from the unit’s grip; the unit lets him go.

Turning to Q, Silva says, “It’s to be your special pet then?” He ignores Q’s fumbling attempt to find a response to return his attention to the unit. “There will come a time you will need to play that part in the field as well. For a mark who prefers his or her men on their knees.” He smiles at the unit’s frowning confusion. “You’ll make an excellent student, 007. Perhaps when our quartermaster is feeling less protective.”

“Silva—”

“I’ve been ordered to report to M,” the agent speaks over him once more and with one last long look at the 007 unit, he leaves the lab.

“You don’t like him,” the unit says once the door is closed.

“No,” Q agrees. “I don’t. But M does so I have little choice but to put up with him. Never mind him,” he waves away whatever the unit is going to say in response. He wonders if he should tell the unit it didn’t need to stop him from touching. But it didn’t hurt Silva and maybe it’ll serve as a good warning to the agent to keep his hands to himself.

“We have your physicals scheduled,” Q changes the subject, “and Dr Hall is waiting for us.”

\--

The unit is flawless in every one of its physical tests, impressing the doctors as well as the other observers brought in by M. The chairman of the Intelligence and Security committee, Mallory is one of them. He reports directly to the Prime Minister and Q can’t help the anxious butterflies as he stands with them, watching the unit doing endless pressups, its naked arms and chest flexes with every movement—a perfect replica of human muscles.

“Considerably more realistic than the last models,” M is saying to him.

“ _More_ realistic?” he echoes. “It looks human.”

“Which has been our goal.”

“Yes.” Mallory doesn’t look pleased, however. “Given what happened with the last model, the realism only increases my concerns.”

“If I may, sir?” Q says hesitantly. After spending years wading through the man’s arguments, he’s been expecting this. “The previous models, 006 especially, was fatally flawed. This unit shares nothing with them except the basic hardware—”

“006 went rogue, Q,” Mallory reminds him and Q does his best not to frown outright.

“Techically, sir, it simply malfunctioned and I was able to override its attempts to disable its self-destruct algorithm before any serious damage was done.”

“A man was killed.”

“Yes, sir, I know, but—”

“Casualties are part of the game,” M breaks in, probably wisely. “Tomlin knew it was possible when he took the mission.” Tomlin, the young agent who was killed by the 007 unit’s predecessor. “I assure you we won’t send this one in the field until we are assured of its success.”

“And this unit’s self-destruct sequence is iron-clad,” Q adds firmly. “There isn’t any way for the unit to override it. It’s on a separate operating system. One controlled separately from its other functions. Once I initiate the destruct sequence, it will continue unimpeded.”

Mallory doesn’t look entirely reassured.

Q starts when he sees a movement out of the corner of his eye and finds the 007 unit standing just behind his shoulder.

“Oh,” he says, feeling silly for the way his heartbeat accelerates. He still hasn’t got used to the unit’s quiet steps. It’s studying his face, with the slight frown it wears when it doesn’t quite understand something. “A formal introduction then,” Q says, turning to Mallory. “The 007 unit, sir.”

Mallory blinks in surprise when the unit offers a hand. “Chairman,” it greets politely.

Mallory accepts the handshake hesitantly, and doesn’t return the greeting. Q watches the unit’s hand flex as it gives a firm squeeze, releasing after two seconds as it’s been programmed to do.

“Well done,” Q murmurs, only realizing he’s said it when the unit glances at him. Q smiles and returns his attention to the Minister.

“Already an improvement over the 006 unit,” he says. Mallory, still eyeing the unit warily, doesn’t respond.

“Shall we continue with the psychological evaluation,” M suggests, with pointed eyes for Q.

“Come along, 007,” Q prompts, and is pleased to see Mallory relax a little as the unit does as it’s told.

“What can a psychological evaluation tell us?” Mallory asks as he gestures for M to go ahead of him through the doorway. “If all of its responses are programmed? In this case, programmed by you, Q. We’ll simply be looking at a mirror image of your evaluation.”

“The unit is programmed to think for itself,” Q tries to explain, although the minister knows all of this by heart. “To react to its environment just as we do. It isn’t that I believe the evaluation will tell us anything useful, but I’m interested to see if the unit’s answers change over time.”

“All very fascinating, I’m sure,” Mallory agrees, in a tone, which tells Q it isn’t in the least. “But 006’s ability to think for itself resulted in a man’s death.”

“The 006 unit malfunctioned,” the 007 unit breaks into the conversation and Q glances back in time to see Mallory’s consternated expression. “An error in the part of its program that processes allegience. It believed Q—and Tomlin—to be enemies.”

Mallory is frowning. “And if the same thing happens again?”

“It was an error in the initial programming,” the unit assures him. “Not a decision made by the unit.”

“But theoretically,” Mallory directs his words to Q, “it could decide to defect.”

“I will not defect,” the unit says firmly. He stops walking, to stand in Mallory’s path and the chairman takes a step back. “My loyalty is to Q. And to M,” he adds like an afterthought and if Mallory didn’t look slightly terrified, Q would smile.

“007,” he says softly, and the unit turns. Q does smile then, but he keeps his voice serious when he says, “Read the chairman’s face.”

The unit looks at Mallory again for a moment before he steps out of his path. “My apologies,” it says. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I…”

“Sir,” Q draws his attention, “this unit is a complete redesign, nearly from scratch.”

“So, you’ve said.” Mallory glances at the unit, focuses on Q again. “And if you do find another fatal flaw?”

“Then I will activate the self-destruct sequence.”

“I’m still not entirely convinced,” Mallory sighs. “And I’ll say as much in my report to the PM.”

Q manages not to grimace. “Of course, sir.”

“I think you’ll be pleased with the unit once Q finishes his tests,” M diverts the conversation easily, walking again so that Mallory has no choice but to keep up with her. Q lets them lead the way, sighing as he falls in step with the 007 unit.

“Did you experience feelings of loss when you destroyed 006?”

Q glances over. “Feelings of loss?”

“Do you feel sad when you think of it?” the unit clarifies. “As you do when you remember your cat?”

“I was disappointed to lose all my hard work. Angry as well; in a way. At myself. My mistake,” he explains when the unit frowns. “But no, I don’t miss the unit. It was just a machine. Not like Tomlin. His death upset me, not the destruction of an android.”

The unit gazes at him for a long moment before it nods.

“Come on,” Q says, picking up his pace. “I’m sure Mallory is eager to start his report.”


	2. The Care and Keeping of Androids

“This is the weapons locker,” Q says as they step inside the room. He’s showing the unit around the building, an obvious necessity after so many employees reacted with wariness while it performed for M and Mallory during its evaluation. Eventually, when the unit is cleared for duty, it will need access to various parts of the building—most of them, really.

They’ve already been to M’s office; given a tour by Tanner, who seems more at ease with the unit than some of the others, but even he was jumpier than usual.

Q doesn’t think his assistants are accustomed to the unit either and they’ve spent more time around it than anyone else.

“It isn’t necessary to identify each room,” the unit tells him. Q smiles a little; the unit reminds him often of its capabilities—a quirk of its programming, of which he’s quickly growing fond.

“I know. Just habit I suppose.”

The unit processes that, gazing at Q for an extended moment; another quirk that doesn’t seem to extend to others.   “I apologize. I wasn’t aware it wasn’t intentional.”

“I have a tendency to think out loud,” Q explains, hoping it will give the unit an understanding of human variances. “It can be annoying.”

“I don’t find it annoying,” the unit assures him and as often happens, Q finds himself smiling again. The unit doesn’t have feelings and so it can’t be annoyed, no matter what Q did. But it’s a nice sentiment all the same and so he thanks the unit.

The unit offers him a smile, the perfect response to this sort of interaction. It’s growing by leaps and bounds.

“Would you like to handle any of the weapons?” he asks. “All of them, if you like. Get a feel for them?” It engaged in target practice in front of Mallory and M, but only with a handgun.

“Don’t fire any of them in here, of course. We’ll step out into the firing range if you want to test them.”

It was probably an unnecessary warning, but Q notices the unit doesn’t say as much. It’s meant to learn from previous experiences, apply the knowledge to future interactions. Apparently, it surmised that Q should be allowed to ramble.

The thought amuses Q and it’s with high spirits that he watches the unit handling various weapons, testing their weight as a human would, holding several eyepieces to its own eye.

It’s the Walther that he gravitates toward, a PPK in particular, lining up sights several times before it turns to Q and raises its eyebrows, the first time it’s made a silent request.

Pleased, Q asks, “Any others?”

The unit selects the Steyr AUG, one of the largest in the collection and one specifically modified by Q.

“Good choice,” he murmurs and receives a quick grin in reply.

In the end, they do test all of the weapons, and although Q programmed the unit to be proficient in weapon use, it still surprises him just how accurate it really is. Not one missed shot.

“You’ll be lethal in the field,” Q breathes as it lowers the AUG. They’ve collected several spectators and every single one of them is staring in awe at the unit. The unit looks entirely smug.

The arrogance is turning out to be quite a large part of its personality but one that seems to fit an agent’s persona. And somehow, it’s endearing. Nothing like Silva, who has threads of the same arrogance. All of the agents do, Q realises. In one way or another.

Most of them don’t wear it as well as the unit does.

“You’re proud of my performance.” The unit is studying his face, paying no attention to the gathered crowd.

“I am,” Q agrees. “I can’t help it. I can’t believe I did so well with your program. It’s surpassing my expectations in every way. Makes me wonder what else I can do if I put my mind to it.”

The unit nods, the smugness no longer present on its face. Its brow furrows in concentration as it replaces the AUG with a double-barreled shotgun that is rarely used by any of the agents.

The unit handles it with as much familiarity as it does the other weapons, lining it up, squinting just as a human would. Everything about its performance is perfect, as far as Q is concerned.

He watches it fire the shotgun, just as giddy as he was when he activated it.

\--

“You won’t really need to come down here—” Q indicates the exercise facilities. “—since you don’t need exercise to keep fit, but you may find a conversation with one of the other agents is necessary at some point. And as you can see, it’s a favourite place to congregate…”

There are several agents using the facilities. Two on the treadmills, three lifting weights and one using the rowing machine. Q can see two in the pool behind the glass wall.

“And they need to become accustomed to your presence.”

“Then it would be prudent for me engage in physical activity,” the unit points out. “To put them at ease, if nothing else.”

Q still can’t get over how well the unit seems to be able to process data and come to the correct conclusion. Even though he programmed it to do precisely that. “You’re right,” he says. “Choose a machine, if you like.”

“Perhaps another time,” the unit murmurs. “I’m not dressed for it.”

Q glances at it in surprise. A smirk is the unit’s chosen response. “Perhaps a tracksuit should be put on your list of adjustments to be made,” it says.

“Items to acquire,” Q retorts in a teasing tone. “Along with the mobile we need to organize for you.”

“And the Walther, customized to read my palm print?”

“Yes,” Q laughs. It sounds as eager as the other agents always do when they’re hitting Q up for new tech. “Now, come on and we’ll meet Ronson. He’s a lot nicer than Silva _and_ he has the highest equipment return rate than any of the other agents.”

The unit’s eyebrows peak. “That’s an important trait,” it guesses, based on which tell Q can’t be sure.

“What gave me away?”

“You’re very possessive of your equipment.”

Well that’s certainly true. An inference, then. Another successful one at that. Q has a disconcerting urge to squeeze the unit’s arm to expend some of the triumph coursing through his body. But then he’ll have to explain why and he’s not really sure he can. He settles for a grin as he leads the way to Ronson, the unit keeping pace with him.

\--

“God, I’m tired,” Q sighs as he sets his laptop case on the coffee table in his flat and drops onto the couch.

“And summoning a deity makes you feel better?”

Amused, Q looks up from trying to press his headache into oblivion. “No, it’s just a thing humans say. From back when the majority of us actually believed in deities. Imploring one of them to help, I suppose.”

“May _I_ help?” the unit asks.

Shaking his head, Q explains, “It was a long day. I have a headache—”

“You haven’t eaten in several hours.”

“I know. I’ll fetch something in a minute.”

“What would you like?” the unit asks. “I’ll get it for you.”

“That’s not necessary. I really just need a few paracetamol—”

The unit pivots, moving toward the toilet with purposeful steps. Q opens his mouth to call it back but it’s already disappeared through the doorway. And then Q is busy wondering how it even knows where he keeps his pills.

But the unit reappears with two tablets and a glass of water, both of which it sets on the coffee table while giving Q what can only be called an expectant look. “How did you…”

“I have access to virtually every piece of media available through the internet,” 007 reminds him, and its voice has an impatient quality about it which almost makes Q want to laugh except his head really is throbbing.

“Thanks,” he says once the pills are down. “But you didn’t have to fetch them for me. You’re a highly trained assassin, not a nurse.”

“I’m also meant to act as a human would. You needed help. I helped you.”

Well, Q can hardly argue with that. “And you made a very good job of it too.” He smiles at the unit and leans back against the couch. “All I want is to sit here and watch rubbish telly for the rest of the night.”

And fall asleep right on the couch; that also sounds good. Sighing, he sits up again and reaches for the laptop. If he shuts the unit off now, he won’t have to worry about falling asleep.

“I thought you preferred not to move,” the unit says. There’s a bit of a sardonic lilt to its voice, but that’s not especially new. Still thrilling though.

“I need to deactivate you first.”

“I would prefer to remain online.”

Q looks up, surprised by the tone the unit is employing; slightly stiff and entirely without its usual confidence.

“As I told you,” Q begins, “I won’t be able to monitor you—”

“I remember your reasoning,” the unit says, nodding equitably. “But if you would permit me to remain online while you watch your programmes, I believe I’ll find it instructive.”

“There’s no redeeming value in television programmes.”

“They’re popular as a form of entertainment. If I’m expected to interact with humans, I should—”

“Yes, okay,” Q gives in. The unit has a way of being right about nearly everything, but then Q _did_ program it…

He pats the cushion beside him and the unit stares at him with a quizzical tilt of its head.  

“Most people will expect you to sit if they’re sitting.” He considers that and corrects himself, “Unless you’re lecturing them, but I’m not sure why you would need to lecture anyone. In social situations, you can follow the other person’s lead. Sit.”

The unit sits, watching him with an expression that seems to be a cross between confusion and amusement. Q has no idea why and he’s too tired to ask. He takes the remote control from the end table closest to him and aims it at the television.

“Did you design that?” the unit asks. It takes a second for Q to realise it’s referring to the controller.

He flexes his wrist, examining it to see what the unit might have seen. “How did you know?”

“It looks unlike any of the designs in my databanks.”

“You have a skill for noticing detail, don’t you? Of course you do, you need to in order to be an effective agent. But yes, I did design it. I’ve redesigned—or at least upgraded—most of the electronic equipment in my flat. Just as I do all my equipment at MI6, customize things to do what I need them to do.”

“Have they also been given personalities?”

Q laughs, even though it seems a legitimate question; the unit is using its most somber tone. “Not yet,” he says, “but maybe if you’re a success, I will.” He’s only joking but the unit nods solemnly. So it needs more work on its humour algorithms. Another item for the list.

“What do you want to watch, then?” he asks. “Anything good in all those files you like to access?”

“I haven’t yet decided how to judge the quality of popular media. Which genres do you prefer?”

“Hm…” Q leans back into the cushions again and the unit mirrors his movements. “Anything but reality television,” he says with a smile.

\--

“Stay beside me,” Q instructs for perhaps the fifth time since he and the unit left the flat. Other than their trips to and from MI6—via cab so as to minimize contact—this is his first attempt to take it out into the world.  

“You’re nervous,” the unit says. Its lips are pulled up, lines deepening around its blue eyes. “You have a tendency to repeat yourself when you’re nervous.”

“You’ve never interacted with anyone outside MI6.”

“And you think I won’t be successful.”

“No, I’m just…”

“Nervous,” the unit repeats.

“And excited. You’ll be fine.”

“The reassurance isn’t necessary.”

Q squints over at it, the realisation slow to dawn that it looks amused. It’s the first time he’s seen it with an expression of amusement; pure amusement unlike the jumbled expression from yesterday evening. He has no idea what elicited this one either. “You’re utilizing an expression to express amusement,” he says. “Are your facial movements functioning as they should?”

The expression drops away as the unit frowns. “I can detect no malfunctions.”

“What made you choose that particular expression?”

“It simply seemed an appropriate response to your repeated order that I remain close.”

Amusement in response to anxiety. “I’m not sure it is. I’ll run a diagnostic when we return to my flat.”

“As you wish.”

“We’ll find an empty shop to begin,” Q says as they cross a street. It’s early, the pavement not yet crowded with people eager to part with their money. “And then a restaurant while it’s still early.”

The unit doesn’t remind him that he’s already gone over the itinerary.

At the moment, it’s wearing casual clothes from the wardrobe chosen by Q; a brown cardigan with blue accents. It doesn’t particularly need different clothes, but clothes are not the mission.

“Let’s try this one,” Q says, stepping aside to usher the unit ahead. Wouldn’t want to leave it out in the street alone. The unit is looking around the shop, cataloguing and taking stock in the same way a human would.

Q still tenses when the shopkeeper sees them from the back of the store. But she smiles and greets them warmly.

“How may I help you?” she asks, expression as welcoming as any shopkeeper’s is.

Before Q can answer, the 007 unit smiles in a way Q can only think of as casually seductive. The woman’s expression changes immediately, lips parting and a soft dusting of pink colouring her cheeks.

“An update for my wardrobe,” the unit says, its voice a deeper timbre than it was outside. “Something like this, perhaps?” It points to a dark grey polo shirt, eyebrows rising in what is clearly meant to be a suggestion for her input.

She runs her fingers along her bottom lip before she murmurs, “It matches your eyes.”

“And something for cooler weather as well,” the unit says, picking up the corner of the polo to rub it between his fingers. “I saw a jumper in the back… charcoal, fine gauge knit…” It makes a gesture just like the one Q used to lead it into the store, inviting her to show the way.

She smiles and touches its arm. Q tenses but the unit only smiles and allows her to guide it toward the jumpers.

Q is left to watch, although he does keep close. The shopkeeper glances at him a few times, an up and down assessment that amuses Q. But she ultimately dismisses him, probably because he doesn’t give any input.

“Cashmere and silk,” the shopkeeper is saying to the unit’s query about fabrics. She holds one of the dark shirts up to its chest; the one it first admired. “It will look lovely with your eyes. There’s a dressing room if you’d like to try it on.”

The unit smiles at her, takes the shirt. He finally glances at Q, and although Q doesn’t particularly care for the clothing choices, the unit is leaps and bounds ahead of the last one so he gives a quick smile of encouragement.

The shopkeeper touches its arm again and it slides its eyes to her, the immediate transformation in its expression fascinating to watch. Q decides he’s surpassed his own expectations in the design of its flirting algorithms. Pleased, he trails behind them as she guides the unit to one of the small rooms to change.

Once it’s inside, the door closed, the shopkeeper turns to him, her smile polite instead of aroused. “May I find something for you as well?”

“No, thank you.”

The 007 unit emerges from the dressing room and Q finds his gaze drawn to its chest, and its arms with the muscles he crafted so carefully. The shirt hugs its frame perfectly. Q’s eyes travel up, to take in its relaxed expression. It’s watching Q, as it does so often, studying his expressions for later use, Q assumes.

The shirt really does make its blue eyes stand out.

It’s much more suited to the unit’s design than the jumper Q chose. And although he knows the unit is designed to make choices, he didn’t really mean for that to extend to wardrobe.

He thinks M would approve though. The bespoke suits were her idea, after all. And this particular shirt looks exactly like the sort of casual wear a man fond of Tom Ford would choose.  

“It’s lovely,” Q hears himself saying and the shopkeeper looks over at him, her previous disinterest shifting to speculation.

“Shall I wrap it for you?” she directs the question to the unit.

“Please,” the unit answers, once again before Q has a chance. “The charcoal mock turtleneck as well, if you would?”

“Certainly.” She collects the shirt and says, “I’ll meet you at the front when you’re ready.”

When she leaves them alone, Q takes another moment to admire the polo. “You did very well,” he says, and the unit smiles. A different smile, bright and quick rather than the seductive one he trained on the shopkeeper. “Now, use the credit card just as we discussed—” Q smoothes a stray wrinkle in the shirt. “—and continue to be as charming as you’ve been. She doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“You’re pleased with my performance?” the unit asks. It’s watching Q’s hand, and Q realises he’s petting its chest like he might a cat. He lets his hand fall.

“Very pleased. Collect the jumper,” he says, gesturing to the dressing room. “And you can wear the polo out.”

The unit nods in acquiescence. Yes, Q decides as he watches the unit walk away, much better suited than Q’s choice.  

\--

“She referred to you as my boyfriend,” the unit says as they walk away from the shop and toward the row of restaurants on the other side of the street.

Q hears the slight elevation in the last syllable and is so pleased with the unit’s use of that particular nuance, he pauses to grin. The unit’s curious expression shifts to confusion.

“You’re pleased.”

“No, not about that,” Q says, laughing a little. “The pitch of your voice changed when you told me what she said. Humans do that when they ask questions and you’ve mastered that— oh, did you mean to do it?”

“I’m incapable of acting without deliberate intent.”

“Of course. Silly of me. But in answer to your question—” He spares another quick smile. “—it’s common for romantic partners to shop for clothes together so she just assumed I was your boyfriend.”

“My actions didn’t inadvertently suggest it?”

“I don’t think so. Although… when you looked to me for confirmation that you should try the shirt on, she did give me a look. Probably better to avoid that as much as you can when we’re in public. I’ll interject if you make a glaring mistake, but after all, the point of this excursion is to test your reactions.”

“I’ll refrain from seeking confirmation that my actions are appropriate.”

“In public,” Q stresses again. “When we’re alone, or at MI6, please don’t hesitate. You still have a lot to learn and the sooner we can get you out into the field, the happier M will be.”

“Only if I’m capable of completing a mission without mishap,” the unit corrects with a tilted smile, one that reminds Q distinctly of someone who is being deliberately self-deprecating. “She probably won’t be terribly happy if you’re forced to activate my self-destruct sequence.”

“No,” Q agrees. “But I won’t have to. I only did that because 006 killed one of our agents. It isn’t as though I’ll blow you up for any little faux pas.”

“Good to know,” the unit drawls. Q squints at it, but it only gazes back at , its eyebrows peaking after a moment. Q smiles a little, not entirely sure the sass will be useful on missions, but it certainly gives the unit a unique personality.

His musing is interrupted by a clumsy shopper knocking into him. It throws him off balance for a second. The unit grips his bicep, keeping him from stumbling. Deftly, it draws him in front of it and to its other side, so that the unit is a wall between him and the jumble of shoppers.

It is programmed to protect MI6, although Q didn’t really mean to extend that particular bit of programming to its employees.

“Erm, the crowd isn’t really a threat—”

“A crowd of people can easily turn into a stampede,” the unit tells him. Its matter-of-fact tone makes Q smile. It’s probably better not to impede his protection algorithms.

“I suppose that’s true. Thanks,” he says and the unit glances at him.

“I’m programmed to protect you.”

“Probably best not mention it in public,” Q says quickly and the unit takes the correction with a nod. “Humans say thank you when they’re grateful for something. Even if it’s something the other person would do without thinking.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good. I’m starving. Any thoughts on a restaurant?”

The unit looks at the row of restaurants and then turns to Q. “Tibits,” it says and then by way of explanation when Q raises his eyebrows in surprise, “I’ve yet to see you eat meat. If you prefer something else—”

“No, it’s perfect. I didn’t realise you were observing my eating habits.”

“A faux pas?” The unit suggests in a perfectly sardonic tone.

Q laughs. “No, not at all. If you were my boyfriend, it would be very conscientious of you. Never mind,” he says for the confusion the unit is displaying. Still smiling, he turns toward the restaurant and the unit adjusts to keep him away from the crowd.

\--

“The date was successful, then?” Eve asks as she sips the large latte she brought with her to Q-Branch. She brought tea for Q as well, but it sits untouched on the desk.

Q makes a face at her as he reroutes an agent’s flight to Mexico. “Ten o’clock,” he tells him over the comm before turning to Eve. “If M overhears you—”

“She’ll have a good chuckle at your expense,” she tells him with a grin. “Did it go well?”

“The _tests_ went perfectly well,” he informs her with a pointed look. “No one knew the unit wasn’t human. Most of the women flirted with it, and our waiter as well.”

“I detect a hint of jealousy.”

“Eve,” he sighs, but the intercom on his desk buzzes before he can finish the exasperated sentence. He flicks the switch to turn it on, his other hand still busy confirming flights and arranging details.

“Q,” Tanner’s frantic voice comes over the line and he immediately tenses. “We need you down here immediately. The 007 unit’s gone mad and I don’t—”

“Shit,” Q breathes, already turning for the door. “Is anyone hurt?” he demands.

“It broke Silva’s wrist—”

“It broke Silva’s _wrist?!_ For god’s sake, why?”

“I don’t know. Medical’s on the way—”

Q breaks into a run and nearly collides with 007 as it steps placidly into Q-Branch.

The unit takes his arm as he tries to lurch to a halt and Eve topples into him with a soft grunt of surprise. Q blinks at the unit, his heart still racing. He doesn’t know what he expects to find in its expression but it doesn’t look enraged or maniacal. It has a wrinkle of concern between its eyebrows. “Is something wrong?” it asks.

“Is something...” Q pulls himself away from the unit’s grasp, tugs his jumper straight. “What the hell is going on?”

“I told you,” Tanner thinks Q is addressing him. “Q, for god sakes, it just walked out—”

“It’s here with me. I’m sending Moneypenney.”

“Q—”

Q cuts the connection. “Eve, be a dear…”

She’s already moving around them—out of reach of the unit, he notices—before he can even finish asking.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asks and the question makes the unit turns its head to look at her. She doesn’t seem terribly frightened and instead of answering her, he turns to glare at the unit.

“You broke Silva’s wrist?” he demands. Eve slips away.

“Yes.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“He refused to stop touching me.”

“ _Sorry?_ ” Q stares at the unit, dumbfounded. “You broke his wrist because he _touched_ you?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

“You asked him not to touch me,” the unit reminds him. “I was simply ensuring that he obeyed your orders.”

“My…” Q has no idea what to say to that.

“You told him not to touch me.”

“I know,” Q half-sputters and then frowns again. “But you can’t just break his wrist—”

His phone chimes again and Q makes a noise of frustration and then grimaces when he sees the screen. _M_. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“M, I assume?”

“Yes, M,” Q snaps. “Damn it.” She’s demanding to see him. Of course she is. Q pivots and stalks back to his computer, cutting off the unit mid-question as he punches the deactivation key.

He runs an agitated hand through his hair as he turns around, his glare roundly unhelpful. The unit can’t even see it. He takes a few calming breaths, but it doesn’t do much for the nervous twist in his stomach. Straightening his shoulders, Q closes his computer and leaves his office, locking the door behind him.

\--

It’s two days later, dozens of reassurances to M, and copious reprogramming before Q reactivates the unit.

“—coming down here?”

Q frowns. “What?” He can’t remember what the unit was saying when he deactivated it. The unit is frowning as well. It shouldn’t be confused by the deactivation but it always wears that expression when Q reactivates it.

“Are you planning to deactivate me every time I do something you don’t like?”

Startled at the demand, it takes Q a moment to answer. “Something I don’t like? You broke an agent’s wrist! Mallory will have our balls once he finds out. Mine anyway.” He throws up his hands and paces away from the unit, back again. “M was ready to scrap then entire program. I had to convince her you thought Silva was a threat because he was acting against my orders—”

“He was.”

“I didn’t order him not to touch you. I _asked_ him not to. If you can’t tell the difference between an order and a request—”

“I can tell the difference.”

“Really? Did you hear me order him not to touch you?”

“I heard you tell him you didn’t want him to demonstrate his seduction techniques. He suggested otherwise.”

Q opens his mouth, closes it again. “He wanted to have _sex_ with you?”

“He said it was a necessary part of my training.”

And perhaps it is. Or it should be…

Q pinches the bridge of his nose as he sighs heavily. “All right. He shouldn’t have, not without clearing it with me, but you can’t just... you broke his _wrist_.”

“I’m aware.”

Considering it, Q asks, “Will you do it again if he touches you?”

“No.”

Q is Halfway to relief with that answer. “Why not?”

“My programming prevents me from harming….” The unit trails off, and the relief wanes. It frowns. “You’ve modified my programming.”

“Yes.” The relief is back again, although Q wonders if perhaps he should have wiped the unit’s memory banks as well. It’s not too late. “So you won’t be able to harm an employee of MI6 again. Which probably won’t make any difference to Mallory.”

“Do you really think that’s wise?” the unit asks.

“Do I think it’s wise that you’re prevented from breaking an agent’s wrist again? Yes! What sort of bloody stupid question is that?”

“The bloody stupid sort I’ve been programmed to ask when confronted with irrationality.”

Q’s mouth snaps closed. The words, if said by a human, would probably be accompanied by a glare. But the unit just lets a pointed eyebrow speak for it.

“You’re not meant to question my orders,” Q says blankly. “Or anyone’s from MI6—”

“You programmed me to respond to my environment—”

“Not like that,” Q interjects. He’s no longer agitated though. How could he be? He moves toward the unit. The pointed calm has gone; it’s watching Q warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Q asks. “Like you’re waiting for me to do something objectionable. You shouldn’t object to anything I do.”

“I object to your decision to compromise my ability to do my job.”

“I didn’t,” Q says with surprise. “I just can’t let you manhandle agents.”

“Edward Smith defected three years ago,” the unit says, throwing Q off track for a second. “He was hunted by three agents and killed by two of their bullets. Had they been programmed to refrain from harming him because he was in MI6’s employ, he would still be alive.”

“Fine,” Q sighs. “I’ll adjust your program so you can shoot defectors, okay?”

“Two years before that, Andrew Millhouse stole secrets and sold them to an enemy. An agent was sent to despatch him.”

“And spies too, _Christ_ , 007—”

“A year before that, one of your own assistants hacked your computer—”

“Okay!” Q sinks onto his desk, gazing at the unit as he wars between exasperation and wonder. “You really are nothing like the others, are you?” He shakes his head. “I’ll fix your programming but if you so much as look at anyone else crooked, I’ll deactivate you immediately.”

“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“You’re expressing resentment, are you aware?”

“And you disapprove.”

Q almost smiles at the curl of the unit’s lip. “Your personality is developing rapidly, which is a testament to the work I put into your program. It’s just not developing in the way I thought it would.”

“You designed me to—”

“Interact with your environment, yes, I know. Just… if you don’t want someone to touch you, try telling them first.”

“I told him twice.”

Q’s fingers lift his glasses as he rubs at his eyes. “Then walk away. Or tell me and I’ll kick his arse, okay?”

The unit smiles slowly, making its eyes look brighter. “You are considerably smaller than he is and relatively untrained.”

“Then, I’ll kick his metaphorical arse. Send him to Minsk in the dead of winter for his next assignment. I am his quartermaster, you know.” He smiles as well, because the unit still is. It really does have a beautiful smile. “Just… don’t break anymore wrists?” Q asks, realizing how fondly the words emerge but he can’t be arsed to care at the moment. He’s bloody exhausted. “At least not without clearing it with me?”

“I’ll clear it with you,” the unit promises and Q smiles.

“Let’s go fix your program then, shall we? But don’t tell M or she’ll want my balls too…”


	3. The Artificial Life of James Bond

007 watches its creator as he adjusts yet another algorithm. When he isn’t attending to his other duties as quartermaster, it’s how he spends the majority of his time. And yet, he never seems satisfied with the results.

“There,” he says, glancing up from his computer. “How’s that?”

It’s a curious question, one that the unit doesn’t fully understand. He says as much and Q smiles at him. He does that frequently, although the unit has rarely observed him smiling at his colleagues, unless in conversation about the unit.

His pride in his accomplishments apparently knows no bounds.

“Your vision,” Q says. “Is everything in focus now?”

The unit examines him, but nothing has changed. Q is brighter than everything else in the room, details clearer than the assistant, R, who stands two metres to the left at her workstation.

Q’s eyes especially, which might be classified as blue but are actually various hues of blue and green both, with swaths of brown near the irises. His hair is brown—a dark shade—as are his eyebrows, and even after shaving, he seems to constantly possess stubble.

He has several dark marks on his skin; common term: mole. They are located, for the most part, on the left side of his face. 007 finds its attention drawn to the two above its creator’s lips most often, as well as the largest one closer to the hinge of his jaw.

There is another on his left ear lobe and a lone one near his right.

Seven, all told.

The unit has no idea if R has similar marks.

“007?” Q prompts. The unit pulls its attention from the moles. Its creator is frowning. “Is your hearing malfunctioning?” He comes around the workstation, a worried line between his eyebrows. He wears it often—his concern for 007’s functioning is endless.

“It’s working within normal parameters,” the unit tells him. And because Q still looks worried, it adds, “My vision is as well.” The adjustments haven’t helped, but 007 judges it a harmless variation. Dishonesty seems to be the correct choice. Q is smiling again.

“Excellent. There are several more tests I’d like to run—”

Of course there are.

“—and then I’m scheduled to brief an agent for a mission. It won’t be terribly useful for you but you should watch nonetheless.”

“I should think meeting the other agents would be high on your list of priorities,” the unit says, to which it earns another smile from its creator.

“Yes, you’re right, of course. You’ll be working with them from time to time, and with one in particular before you’re allowed to go on a solo mission. Possibly several.”

“As long as it isn’t Silva, I have no objections.”

The skin over Q’s nose wrinkles; an expression of distaste. “Definitely not. He’s under strict orders to give you a wide berth—not that he’s complained. About the order. About you and me, several times. Fortunately, M has enough time and money invested in this project, even _his_ complaints haven’t changed her mind.”

“She’s fond of him,” the unit surmises.

“Yes,” Q sighs. “He’s an exceptional agent. Lowest failure rate of any of them. Detestable human being, though. Come here,” he beckons and the unit complies, closing the distance between them to stand beside its creator. Q’s quick smile is the one he uses most often when the unit does as he asks, although the unit doesn’t know precisely why this should be. It is programmed, after all, to do the quartermaster’s bidding.

Besides which, the unit prefers to be in close proximity to him.

“I’ve adjusted the optic sensors,” he says, pointing to the algorithm in question. He has a habit of telling the unit things it already knows, much like his tendency to repeat himself when he’s nervous. The unit smiles, an expression it wouldn’t use if Q were looking at him. Q disapproves of amusement unless someone is doing something intentionally humourous.

Q’s quirks, apparently, do not fall under that category.

The unit allows him to continue his explanations. They seem to soothe him and the unit has found he prefers the sound of Q’s voice to silence. Much as it prefers his presence to solitude.

Thus far, its creator has found little value in leaving it alone.

“Is there anything else we need to tweak?” Q asks, pausing in his pointing to glance over.

“All systems are functioning within normal parameters,” the unit assures him. It is the correct response. The creator’s face relaxes, the concentrated look slipping away to leave his muscles at ease. He is relieved.

He closes the computer, pockets the mobile unit he’s been perfecting since 007 broke Silva’s wrist.

“Just a precaution,” Q says when he notices the direction of the unit’s gaze. “I doubt you’ll feel the need to break this agent’s bones. Don’t let her size fool you, though. She’s one of our best.”

“Size has no bearing on skill.”

Q’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile.

“You’re amused,” the unit says as they turn to leave the lab.

“No, I’m just being childish. It sounded too much like an innuendo.”

The unit immediately runs the words through an analyser, processes the data and says, “Ah. I was referring to stature, not a penis.”

“I know. Just as a note though,” Q says, “you should probably choose a different word to refer to it. Especially in a sexual context.”

Another search and the unit nods. “Both cock and dick seem to be used in popular media.”

“Your choice,” Q says with a shrug.

“Which do you prefer?”

“Erm…” Q glances over again. His cheeks are pink. Embarrassment, or discomfort. “I don’t know.”

He tends to react with varying degrees of discomfort when 007 raises the subject of sex. According to its research, his reaction is fairly normal. 007 finds it curious, nonetheless. How else does Q expect it to learn, if not from him?

“Would you rather I didn’t ask you questions about sex?” it asks. Q’s dark eyebrows rise above his glasses. Surprise.

“No, of course not,” he says, pushing the glasses more firmly over his nose. Another quirk, which seems to go along with the discomfort. But the 007 unit has found that humans do not always say what they mean. Even its creator is not immune.

“Your reactions indicate discomfort,” the unit tells him, because Q encourages the classification of tells. And he has never once asked it to refrain from seeking knowledge.

“Oh.” Another firm nudge of his glasses. “It’s silly, I suppose. I’ve never been one to speak openly about… sex.” It’s clearly an effort to say the word. The unit smiles and this time its creator smiles as well, a twist to his lips that indicates he is expressing self-deprecation. “I’ll try not to be so prim. You can’t feel embarrassment so there’s no need to be. You’re not human.”

He reminds the unit of the fact often, as though he’s afraid it might forget it’s one of his tools.    

“Cock,” Q says, decisively. “I prefer cock.”

A female voice, just behind them says with amusement, “I’ll keep that in mind, although I’m not sure it’s pertinent to the mission.”

Q’s face immediately turns an interesting new shade of red that the unit has never before observed on him. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath as he turns. The unit turns with him as Q greets in a strained voice, “Ms Lynd.”

The woman smiles. “Q. And you’ve brought a friend,” she says, eyes traveling up and down the unit’s form in a manner which suggests she is interested in sex. Or at the very least, she intends to flirt.

“Bond,” the unit introduces itself, as it’s been programmed to do, with the same flirtatious smile it utilized on the shopkeeper, and various others while on training missions with Q. “James Bond.”

Her eyes widen a little. Eyes, the unit notes, which are similar to Q’s.

“You’re the new artificial intelligence.” Her gaze has sharpened, no longer flirtatious, but curious and if the unit is reading her correctly, impressed. “You look human.”

“I’m designed to be indistinguishable from a human.”

Another long look, up and down. “You are.” She reaches out, drawn to touch; as so many humans seem to be. She stops before she makes contact though, and glances at Q.

Q is watching her with studious eyes, cataloguing her reactions as he does with everyone who interacts with the unit.

“May I?” she asks.

Q nods and the unit trains its eyes on her again, as she touches its chest. A careful caress over the facsimile of pectoral muscles that Q crafted so expertly. She’s smiling.

“It’s stunning, Q, really.”

“Thank you.”

The woman drops her hand, offers it to the unit. “Vesper Lynd,” she says. “Lovely to meet you.”

007 accepts, applies appropriate pressure for 2.1 seconds before releasing her. “Not disappointed to learn I’m not entirely human, I hope?”

She expresses surprise momentarily. But then she smiles and there’s another lingering look. “Indistinguishable, did you say?”

“In _every_ detail,” it tells her, lowering the pitch of its voice to be match her suggestion.

She grins, eyes bright with pleasure. A curious reaction, and like no other the unit has received, with the exception of Q.

The unit looks at its creator, noting the small smile that indicates approval. 007 returns it and Q’s gaze lingers for a moment before he says, “Ms Lynd is the agent we’ll be briefing. You’re early, Lynd.”

“M sent for me. She wants to see me before I leave.”

“Ah. Come along, then, and let’s get your equipment sorted. The 007 unit is here to observe.”

“When is it scheduled for its first mission?” she asks, taking up residence at Q’s other side.

“It hasn’t been, not yet. We need an agent to take it under their wing before any solo missions are attempted. Silva was M’s first choice, but he isn’t a good fit.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Lynd agrees, with a similar expression of distaste to the one Q displayed earlier. She glances across Q to give the unit a speculative look. “If you’re looking for volunteers,” she says to Q, “I’m willing. Interested, 007? This mission is simple—kill the mark and come home. It should only take a few days.”

“It’s not ready,” Q says before the unit can answer. “It’s still learning. But I will take your offer under consideration.”

“That’s code for I like the idea very much but I’m not willing to let you know it,” Lynd says to the unit, with a wink to emphasize the words. 007 smiles at the expression of disgruntlement on its creator’s face.

“Don’t encourage her,” he huffs, once he sees the unit’s smile, but the unit reads amusement, rather than true irritation.

“Even if she’s right?” it asks and Lynd laughs.

“I like this one,” she says as she presses her thumb to the screen next to the door to gain entry into the weapons locker. She leads the way inside.

The unit stands back to allow Q to go first. He murmurs gratitude, still smiling. “Leaps and bounds,” he murmurs, and although the unit doesn’t understand the reference, it’s with pride that he says it. And pride, when coming from Q is always associated with his creations. Therefore, the unit concludes that he is pleased with its interaction with Lynd.

Smiling, the unit follows Q inside.

\--

“You haven’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours,” the unit observes, quiet so as not to startle its creator. He’s bent over his screens, following one of the agent’s tracking devices with a frown.

“Need to be sure Ronson makes it across the border,” Q mumbles, not taking his attention from his screen.

“Your subordinates are capable of monitoring his progress.”

“Mm.”

Q is no longer listening fully, his attention on his work. 007 watches him for another moment. He doesn’t sleep as much as the unit’s databanks suggest a man of his age should. And no matter the attempts at persuasion, he won’t be swayed. The unit has attempted persuasion on several occasions.

The unit leaves its creator's office, seeks out one of the assistants who is, unlike Q, meant to be on duty at this late hour. “Dawkins,” its greets quietly. Much like Q, the assistant doesn’t look up from his work.

“Hm?” He finally glances up when the unit doesn’t respond, blinks in surprise. “Oh! Erm, Q is… He’s in his office I think? Are you lost, I’m not sure—”

Most members of Q Branch express discomfort when interacting with the unit, especially if their quartermaster is not present. But the unit has found a smile works to calm them. This time is no different. The assistant’s spine relaxes.

“My apologies for the interruption,” it says, pitching its voice to be non-threatening and adjusting its face to appear helpless enough that Dawkins smiles. “But Q needs tea and I’m not entirely certain…”

“Of course. I’ll just be a moment.”

The unit watches him go, lips lifting in an expression of amusement at the ease in which humans allow themselves to be manipulated. The unit knows very well how to make tea; it was probably one of the first programs the creator perfected, as much as he drinks himself.

But the unit has discovered it’s wise to allow the humans—those who feel discomfort especially—to believe they have an advantage.

Dawkins returns after five minutes, smiling a little when he sees the unit. “Here we are. Shall I take it to him?”

“I’ll do that. I’m keeping you from your work.” An apology through voice and expression. The unit holds the assistant’s eyes as it says with a sincere timbre, “Thank you, Dawkins.”

The human smiles, shyly, if the unit is reading him correctly. “It was no trouble,” he assures. “Please let me know if Q needs anything else.”

“I certainly will,” the unit says quietly, earnestly. The assistant is still smiling as he returns to his work.

He will most likely be even more pliable upon future encounters.

007 returns to Q’s office, sets the tea beside the computer. Tea is a staple for him, and is often delivered by his assistants. He doesn’t even look up, murmurs gratitude while automatically bringing the cup to his mouth.

A distracted sip and then he asks, eyes still fastened to the screen, “Fetch my mobile, will you?”

Obligingly, the unit accesses its memory banks to discover the mobile’s been left on the workbench in the main room. The unit retraces its steps, is greeted with a smile from Dawkins as he passes.

The unit returns it out of course and goes back to Q’s office with the retrieved mobile. Q holds out his hand and when the unit places the mobile carefully on his palm, he blinks and looks up quickly. “007?” His eyebrows pull together, a sign of confusion. “I thought you were Dawkins…”

“He’s at his station. Shall I fetch him?”

“No.” Q shakes his head with a smile. “No, I don’t need him. Did you bring the tea as well?”

“Yes.”

Q straightens his glasses, not a nervous movement but one he also seems to do without thought, a tic perhaps. “Well, thank you but you needn’t have.”

“You’re tired,” the unit tells him. “Tea is a poor substitute for sleep, but it’s apparently restorative.”

The skin around Q’s eyes form lines; a sign of amusement. “It is.” He sighs, the amusement falling away as he rubs at his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

“May I help?” the unit asks, moving to stand beside its creator. Q considers for a moment. “I have to make a report to Tanner. “Monitor Ronson? It will just take a moment.”

It is obvious that Q doesn’t need the assistance. He is capable of multi-tasking, and therefore it is likely he sees an opportunity for more training.

“There’s no hurry,” the unit assures him, perfectly willing to complete as much training as Q deems necessary. Especially if compliance elicits the same smile.

Q steps away from the desk as he rings for Tanner.

007 studies the monitor, the dot designated for Ronson. The agent has not crossed the border into safe territory. There’s an order for radio silence, which explains why Q is not terribly concerned about the delay. “Is there a reason for his delay?” the unit asks.

Q, in the middle of his conversation with Tanner, shakes his head.

The unit returns its attention to the monitor, reading the information quickly—the agent didn’t have any injuries at last report.

There’s nothing in the area that should have waylaid him; no enemies, no reports of concern of any kind. Ronson’s mark is dead and there should be nothing keeping him from crossing over into territory, which will be considerably safer for him.

But as the unit watches, Ronson’s tracker starts moving again. Coming up behind him, Q says quietly, “That’s a relief.”

“You were concerned?”

“Not overly so. But it’s always worrisome when agents don’t proceed as you expect.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the field.”

Q smiles. “You’re virtually indestructible. I don’t think I’ll have anything to worry about with you. Besides, I’ll be able to reroute you if necessary.”

The unit looks over at him, frowning slightly. “You intend to reprogram me while I’m on my missions?”

Its creator shrugs. “If you get into trouble, of course. You’ll be vulnerable at first.”

“I’m virtually indestructible,” it repeats his words, adding a sardonic lilt.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you back in one piece.”

The unit interprets that to mean ‘fully functional’. It’s a laudable goal, but the unit points out, “You’re not qualified to judge whether or not I need to be rerouted.” The severity of Q’s frown is unexpected.

“Of course I am. It’s my job to guide the agents as necessary.”

“And their job to choose a course of action based on experience—”

“Which you don’t have.”

“I have the knowledge of every past and present agent employed by MI6, as well as knowledge acquired, as possible, from our colleagues in other agencies.”

“That isn’t the same as actually having done—”

“Experience is essentially gathered knowledge.”

Q opens his mouth, pauses and closes it again. “Are you aware you’re arguing with me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not programmed to argue with me.”

“We’ve had a similar conversation.”

Q narrows his eyes, and for a moment the unit believes deactivation is imminent. And Q does walk over to the computer that houses its program. But instead of shutting it down, he mutters at a low volume, “How in hell are you arguing with me?”

“You programmed me to be stubborn.”

“To be stubborn in regards to completing your missions, not in your interactions with me.”

“Do you intend to reprogram my personality algorithms?” the unit asks, keeping its tone bland instead of confronting.

Its creator blinks, a reaction of someone who is surprised. “I already told you I’m not going to blow you up for a faux pas, I’m hardly going to reprogram you every time you express your personality.”

“You reprogrammed me when I broke Silva’s wrist.”

“Hardly the same thing.” When the unit doesn’t respond, Q frowns. “You do resent me for that. You shouldn’t be able to resent me.”

“I don’t resent you. I simply wish you wouldn’t adjust my program on a whim.”

“It’s not…” Q pushes his glasses up, huffs out a long breath and readjusts the glasses.

“I’m frustrating you.”

“Yes.” Q smiles in the manner that indicates self-reproach and shakes his head. “No, you’re not. Of course you’re not. It’s not your fault I programmed you to be stubborn, and it certainly isn’t your fault it seems to have worked its way into your interactions with me. You are what I made you.”

“And yet it displeases you.”

Q studies him for several seconds. “I can’t decide if this is going to get in the way of missions. You can’t argue with every order I give you.”

“ _Every_ order?” the unit repeats, as it has heard its creator do when he wishes to express incredulity.

Unexpectedly, Q rolls his eyes. The unit searches its databases to find a reason why as Q says, “Okay, not every order.”

Although the unit hasn’t yet deciphered his eye-rolling, it says, “The other agents often disagree with the orders you give them.”

“Of course they do, but they don’t blatantly defy me.”

“I’ve never defied you.”

“I’ve never asked you to do anything.”

“That’s your concern?” the unit asks, after considering the worried undertone in the creator’s words. “You’re afraid I’ll follow 006’s example and you’ll be forced to destroy me.”

“No, that isn’t it. You’re different than it was.”

“Then what is your concern?”

“I don’t really know,” Q admits. “I just expected you to do whatever I asked without question.”

“Like your remote control,” the unit surmises. “Or your computer.”

Q is frowning again.

“You didn’t program them to assess situations,” 007 reminds him, although it shouldn’t be necessary. “Or to think for themselves. Both of which are necessary if I’m to be a successful agent.”

“I know that.”

It seems they are at an impasse, as the expression goes. The unit has no idea how to ease its creator’s concerns. “I won’t defy your orders,” it attempts to do so anyway.   Adds, as humans seem to appreciate, “I promise.” It would also be prudent not to argue with him again, as it seems to have upset him unduly. Compliance is important to him.

Evidenced by the fact that he’s smiling again. “The promise isn’t necessary,” he says, tone gentler now, no longer harsh with his anger. “But I appreciate the sentiment, thank you. You’re programmed to be loyal to MI6, and I don’t believe you’ll compromise any of the missions.”

The unit studies his face, attempting to judge his decision on the matter of reprogramming. It finds the task impossible and so it asks, “You won’t reconfigure my personality?”

“No,” Q says, smiling in a manner that the unit classifies as gentle. He shakes his head. “It may be useful in your interactions with other people. On missions.”

Not at MI6, the unit interprets and definitely not with Q.

He’s still studying the unit. Waiting for something, perhaps? The unit searches for an appropriate response and replies, “Thank you.”

The creator’s face pinches in a way that indicates confusion. But he only nods.

“Ronson is safe,” the unit reminds him, reasoning that Q will continue to stare at him if it doesn’t reroute the conversation. “Are you ready to return to your flat?”

“Yes,” Q answers in a preoccupied manner. But he does return to his laptop to shut it down and slide it into its bag. “Shall we take the tube tonight?”

“If you think I’m ready,” the unit answers. Thus far, he’s restricted their journeys to cabs, to limit its exposure to the world outside MI6. The creator looks up from placing his laptop bag over his shoulder. His eyes are giving away amusement, his lips curved in a smile.

“You’re ready,” he says quietly. The unit waits for him to cross the room and then they leave Q’s office together, their steps synchronized.

\--

The tube isn’t as crowded as it would be during the day, but Q remains close to the unit nonetheless. He grips the unit’s bicep as they step onto the train, tugging it away from the door when the unit doesn’t move quickly enough.

It’s the first time Q has made contact beyond the stroking of its chest in the clothing shop, and it finds its attention drawn to his fingers as it did before; long and pale, nails neatly trimmed. He’s using a different hand, and this one has a small scar on the curve of the thumb.

“Here,” Q says, pulling the unit’s attention away from his fingers as he guides them to a seat.

There are several empty; Q doesn’t release the unit until they’re both sitting. It wonders what actions would elicit another such touch. Q is still in close proximity, as the unit prefers.

“Is it considered unacceptable to touch another passenger?” it asks, taking note of the space between the other humans on the train. It keeps its voice low; discretion when they are amongst humans not employed by MI6.

“How do you mean?” Q asks, curiosity making his voice slightly higher in pitch. He gives the unit his full attention, as he always does when it asks questions.

“The other passengers.” 007 indicates them with a nod of its head and Q follows its gaze. “Very few are sharing a bench. And those that do, are not touching.”

“Hm, I’m not sure why we do it,” Q’s voice is a low hum, a tone the unit has chosen to characterize as thoughtful. He’s leaning in to speak close to the unit’s ear. “Most of us tend to give each other space when we’re in public places. As far as possible. The people sitting next to each are probably friends, or in a romantic relationship.”

It has already been firmly established that he and the unit are not in a romantic relationship; the idea amused Q immensely. It’s also unlikely its creator would term them friends. Colleagues is the closest approximation that anyone not in MI6’s employ would understand.

But even that isn’t accurate. Q only sits beside the unit because he’s not convinced it won’t commit an egregious error. It wants to ask what markers he’s using to decide whether or not it’s ready to attempt a mission with one of the other agents. But the creator tends to prefer caution in public so the unit says instead, “Have you any plans for the week-end?” No matter how much it practices, the unit is never able to fully anticipate Q’s reactions. The confusion is no different, but the unit adjusts easily. “I heard two of your assistants discussing various options—one of which was to get so drunk he won’t even care whose bed he’s in.”

The unit is quoting verbatim. Q’s lips are twitching as he attempts not to smile. 007 does smile and its creator follows suit—a common phenomenon. “It was Peter, wasn’t it? Of course it was. And he’s usually so picky about whose bed he’s in.”

A sarcastic comment, one that amuses Q greatly, although the unit doesn’t know why. It runs a search on promiscuity and understands. Obviously he’s of the opinion that sexual relations are to be conducted within a structure of monogamy.

The exact opposite of the unit’s programming.

“I don’t have any plans,” Q answers 007’s original query. “I rarely do.”

“You prefer to work at the week-end.”

“ _Prefer_ is perhaps overstating.”

“You’re allowed time away from the office.” It’s not a question, not intentionally, but Q nods.

“I know. But I do enjoy tinkering in the lab. Unfortunately, I usually get pulled into other things.”

“Delegation is not your strongest suit,” the unit says with a smile meant to tease. Q huffs, an indication that he accepts the teasing. “You could always build a lab in your flat.”

“Not enough room.”

“You’ve considered it,” the unit infers.

“Not in my flat, but I’ve often thought of buying a house, nothing terribly large—”

“But with enough room for a lab.”

Q smiles. “Yes.”

“Perhaps you could purchase the flat next to yours.”

“I’ve considered that as well,” Q laughs. “Shit, it’s our stop.” He stands quickly, but as he usually does, he waits for the unit to go ahead. According to its research, it’s a protective gesture, both when used by a caregiver and a romantic partner. There’s no doubt which its creator considers himself to be, even though the 007 unit is clearly better equipped to act as protector.

Indulgence is perhaps the correct term for the unit’s willingness to do as the creator wishes anyway. It’s capable of monitoring his movements even when it’s in the lead. But Q pulls up next to the unit as soon as they clear the train. The unit changes his stride to match.

The platform is just as deserted as the train, the pavement as well when they return to level ground. The unit notes the way Q rubs at his arms, the movement brisk and possibly intended to warm him. It scans the temperature and asks, “Are you cold?”

Q glances at him, surprised. “I should have worn a warmer jumper.”

The unit shifts to shield its creator from the wind. But Q wraps his arms around himself, clearly still feeling the effects of the cold. 007 stops walking. Q stops as well, his facial muscles twisting with confusion as it takes off its jacket.

“007,” Q protests as soon as it offers the jacket, “you don’t have to—”

“I can’t be cold. We have several more blocks to go.”

Q considers the unit briefly but ultimately accepts the jacket with a murmured, “Thank you.”

The unit says in the same quiet tone, “You’re welcome.”

The jacket is far too big for him, his shoulders not nearly as broad. It shouldn’t make him appear smaller, but it does. A smile seems an appropriate response to this phenomenon.

Q tilts his head, curiosity lifting his eyebrows above his glasses. “Why are you smiling?”

The unit stops smiling, but that only makes its creator frown.

“My jacket is too big for you,” it tries to explain. Q clearly doesn’t understand why that should make the unit smile. But it’s at a loss to explain.

“The juxtaposition,” Q says after a moment, but the unit doesn’t understand why. “Your personality really is nothing like I expected it to be.”

The unit understands this to be a disappointment.

It seems Q simply prefers the unit not to emulate emotion—anger and amusement alike. Attempts at both have been met with disapproval.

Q wants it to follow orders, much like the computers at his command. It is, in fact, the entire reason the unit exists. To please its creator. And therefore, it will oblige.

“We should spend time away from the office,” the creator is saying. “You have a lot of gaps in your social knowledge. We can take time to fill those at the week-end, because you’re right—” Q aims a smile at the unit. “—I need to learn to delegate. R will be happy anyway. Where shall we go?”

“Which gaps are most glaring?”

“Sorry? Oh, just how to behave in new places, I suppose. Your first ride on the tube was successful. We should attempt something with more crowds. A museum or gallery, perhaps?”

Thus far, the unit has found no reason to believe large gatherings of humans will prove problematic, but it simply nods in reply. The correct response. Q smiles.

“Good. The National Gallery is a good place to start. It’s quiet, even with a crowd of people. And it may be beneficial for you to have preferences in regards to art, as you’ve started to with clothing. Learn a bit about the paintings so you can talk about things a human might.”

All the data the unit needs is in its databanks, but there’s no reason to remind its creator. The unit prefers to allow him his words, focuses on his smiling glances as he looks to the unit every few words. His hands are gesturing, as they often do when they’re not preoccupied with tools.

He’s no longer shivering.

The unit will suggest a windbreaker in the morning.

“We’ll test the cars tomorrow,” Q changes topics effortlessly. “And I need to be sure you’re proficient with other vehicles as well.”

“I’ll test as many as you like,” the unit agrees. It will have no difficulty with any of them.

“Good.” They’ve reached Q’s building. “Let’s finish that documentary,” he says as he unlocks the door. “And leftovers. I’m starving. Oh, and don’t let me forget we’re scheduled to see M in the afternoon. She wants an update. She’s getting impatient, but you’re doing so well and we’re ahead of schedule so she can hardly complain.”

“She doesn’t seem the type to rein in a complaint simply because she’s without reason.”

Chuckling, Q agrees, “True. We’ll simply fend off any complaints.”

“Do you have a timeline for my first attempt at field work?” the unit asks.

“As soon as I think you’re ready. But whenever that is, I’m coming with you. No matter which agent I decide to bring along.”

Frowning a little, the unit chooses its words carefully. “I won’t disobey your orders, even from a distance.”

“I didn’t think distance would change anything,” Q says with a smile. “But I don’t trust any of the agents as much as I trust myself. And for a first mission… any number of problems could arise.”

“You’ve only been in the field three times. Twice you left with serious injuries.”

“Hm, perhaps I shouldn’t have downloaded my professional history into your databanks.” He’s smiling, however, so the unit decides he doesn’t actually regret his decision to do so. “I’ll be fine.”

“I will make sure of it.”

Thoughtfully, Q says, “Your protective algorithms respond more readily to me than to any of the others at MI6.”

“You are my creator.” The startled expression on Q’s face makes the unit wonder if it’s made a mistake. “Do you object?” it asks in a tone designed away from confrontation.

“No,” its creator says quietly. He’s still studying the unit’s face. “No, not at all. It will probably keep me safer in the field.”

“I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“No,” Q agrees softly as he ushers the unit into the lift ahead of him, “I don’t believe you will.”

\--

“Have you chosen an agent to escort the unit on its first field test?” M asks, her gaze trained on the unit. It’s a gaze unlike the creator’s, her eyes sharp and perpetually assessing. No warmth or curiosity. She watches all of her subordinates this way; no one is immune.

“Lynd volunteered,” Q tells her. “But I haven’t decided, not yet.”

“Better to choose someone who is comfortable with the unit,” M says reasonably. “Someone who will follow your orders.” There’s a slight press of her lips that Q responds to by adjusting his glasses.

“Yes,” he agrees, the timbre of his voice telling the unit he is nervous. “I believe she will.”

“Mm. And the unit hasn’t given you any reason to believe it will break her bones?”

The unit understands the reason for its creator’s anxiety. “I won’t,” it assures her, voice calm and firm. “I’m incapable of harming an employee of MI6.”

It sees Q’s quick glance but doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t look away from M so that she can have no difficulty in reading its sincerity.

Her gaze is just as sharp as it always is, but she doesn’t detect the lie. The unit has no tells for her to read.

She glances at Q, the slight smile satisfied. “Tell me when you’ve made your decision.”

“Yes, ma’am. 007.” There’s a snap to his tone, the one he always uses when he’s trying to show his colleagues—or his superior in this case—that he’s in complete control of the unit. It’s rare for him to use it when they’re alone, rare but not impossible.

Before the unit complies, it makes a respectful nod toward M. “Ma’am,” it says politely. There’s a pause before she returns the gesture. The unit turns sharply on its heel and precedes its creator out of her office.

Once they’re outside, Q takes pace with it. His voice is quiet, introspective as he says, “You lied to her.”

“Yes.”

Q turns to watch the space in front of him as they walk. “You need to be able to lie in the field. I’m not sure it’s entirely appropriate to use that bit of programming here—”

“You asked me not to tell her you reinstated my ability to harm an employee of MI6.”

A quick look, brows drawn together. It isn’t anger, however. His eyes are worried. “You did it to protect yourself,” he murmurs.

The unit frowns, attempting to understand how he came to that conclusion. Perhaps because a human’s first instinct is to protect himself. The unit is not human.

“I did it to protect you,” it says. The surprise in its creator’s expression is expected. “I assumed she would be angry with you.”

“But why should you…” Q shakes his head, glances over with eyes narrowed in study. “Never mind. Tanner’s waiting for us downstairs.” He trains his eyes forward again, but his mouth is pinched and there is tension through his muscles.

After they enter the lift, the unit says quietly, “It wasn’t my intention to frustrate you again.”

Q tilts his head, a smile bringing up the edge of his lips a fraction. “You’re not. I just… need time to process.”

“I don’t understand.”

Q takes his glasses off, rubs at his eyes briefly before resettling them. “You continue to react in unexpected ways. I don’t think I can attribute you lying to M to your developing personality. And your algorithms—” Several wrinkles appear as he narrows his eyes. “—they should be compartmentalized but they seem to be overlapping. It wasn’t what I meant to happen, and it’s…”

“Disconcerting,” the unit supplies. Because it can read its creator’s face with almost perfect accuracy now.

The way Q’s mouth twists isn’t new, and the unit reads it to mean he’s amused. “Yes.”

“You’re reconsidering your agreement not to reprogram me.”

Q’s chest expands as he inhales slowly. He doesn’t reply.

The unit considers its options carefully. Its creator doesn’t want to engage in arguments, doesn’t want it to disobey his orders. It’s programmed to do as Q wishes, but at the moment, those wishes are in direct conflict with the unit’s.

“I would prefer to remain as I am,” it says, words chosen carefully as it watches him for signs of displeasure. “I will attempt to do as you wish, and learn from my mistakes.”

Q frowns. “I wouldn’t say you’re making mistakes.” He sighs. “I won’t reprogram you. I would have to start from scratch if I did.”

The decision is a practical one. The unit says anyway, “Thank you.”

After a moment, Q shakes his head. He’s smiling but his face doesn’t look entirely relaxed. 007 is at a loss to know what to say to ease his disquiet.

It isn’t convinced he won’t choose reprogramming. If he continues to be alarmed, he may feel it necessary. The unit would prefer to remain as it is and therefore, it will monitor Q’s reactions, and adjust its behavior accordingly.

There will be no need for reprogramming if the unit does exactly as its creator wishes.


	4. Bird Under Glass

“It isn’t that I’m worried,” Q says to Eve as they watch the unit driving the DB10, which was so recently upgraded with weapons and tech. It handles the car with as much expertise as it does everything else.

Tanner is watching as well, although he’s on the other side of the tarmac with Ronson, both of them as impressed as Q would have expected.

“You sound worried,” Eve says, her own gaze focused on the sharp turns the unit is making. “I thought it was doing so well.”

“It is. But its personality… I think I may have inadvertently made it too unique,” he admits with a grimace. “The other units weren’t like this. They didn’t argue with me.” She’s probably tired of listening to him ruminate on the unit. But he adds anyway, “It does things I didn’t intend for it to do. Lying to M…”

“The other agents disagree with you on a daily basis,” she points out with a smile, finally pulling her attention from the silver car. “And I know they lie to you.”

Q squints at her. “You _know_?”

Eve winks. “No fair giving away secrets learned in bed.” In a more serious tone she says, “You were the one who lied to M in the first place. Even though you won't tell me what you lied about." "Not important," he says with a smile. She doesn't press. "You told the unit not to give you away.”

Q sighs. “I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s a trained assassin—”

“So are the other agents. So am I, come to that.”

“I know, but it’s not the same. The unit is virtually indestructible. Bulletproof. And it has the experience and skill of every agent we’ve ever had. It would make a formidable enemy—like none we’ve ever seen.”

Eve is frowning. “But you told Mallory you could activate the self-destruct if you had to.”

“I know. And I can. It’s not that I think it will go rogue, it’s just…” But he doesn’t really know. “I’m afraid it may be difficult to control.”

Eve nods thoughtfully. “Like Silva?”

But the unit is nothing like Silva. Its quiet calm and peculiar need to keep Q from harm, even if that harm is simply an angry head of MI6, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced with his agents. With anyone, really, save an overprotective boyfriend or two.

And the unit is as far from a boyfriend as Q can possibly get. “So many of its reactions are unpredictable.”

“Of course they are. They have to be, don’t they? There are so many variables in a mission situation—”

“Yes, on a mission. But not here. And I don’t think I should program it to perform differently here than it would on a mission. It would probably hinder its effectiveness. Sorry,” he adds, knowing he’s rambling but Eve shakes her head, an invitation to continue. Because she knows he’ll return the favour when she needs it. He smiles, rueful. “It’s meant to learn as it goes. And it won’t matter once I clear it for missions. It doesn’t even need to be online in between missions.”

Whether or not the unit will argue with him remains to be seen.

“It said something,” Q says hesitantly, not because he doesn’t trust her, but because he’s not sure what to make of it still. Eve gives a little tilt of her head to show she’s listening. “It said it lied to M to protect me. Because I’m its creator.”

“And?”

“And?” he echoes, making a helpless gesture. “That’s not what it’s meant to do. I didn’t put anything in its programming which should make it feel as though I need protection. And especially not because I built it.”

“But you did build it. And it spends more time with you than anyone else. And you do control it.”

“It doesn’t have the ability to form bonds. Not even with me.”

“Did any of the other units behave in the same way?”

“No, but technically I didn’t build them. I was using Boothroyd’s template.”

“And were they loyal to him?”

“They never interacted with him. He was gone by the time I built the first one. But they didn’t display any of this one’s tendency to follow me around, or protect me. Or argue with me. Any of it.”

Eve is smiling and he has no idea why. “Sounds like it has a little crush on you, Q.”

Of course she would continue on with that. He just makes a face and she laughs, delighted as always in her efforts to tease him.

“And you can’t deny you’re not fond of it.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re fond of all your equipment.” She’s grinning. “You pet your computer, and whisper encouragements when it’s slow. I’ve seen you do the same with the unit.”

Exasperated, Q shakes his head. But before he can deny it—and tell her exactly why the idea is ludicrous—the unit stops the car just in front of them. It steps out, tall and impeccable in the suits it’s taken to wearing when they’re working. It smiles when it meets Q’s gaze. “This one handles exceptionally well.”

Q smiles as well, squinting up at it against the sun. “I thought you might like it. You did well.”

The answering smirk is exactly the reaction Q expected. The unit’s eyes shift to Eve, as though it’s only noticing her.

“Miss Moneypenney,” he greets her, the smirk still in place.

“It’s Eve,” she says with a smile of her own. She is becoming more at east with the unit, unlike the majority of Q’s colleagues.

“Eve,” the unit accepts the correction, in the tone he reserves for light flirtations, an interaction Q didn’t mean to extend to everyone. There are a few exceptions; most notably M and Q. The unit also seems to have figured out who doesn’t appreciate being flirted with. Most of them straight men. The unit never flirts with them. Or R, who gave him a cold look the first time he tried it. It’s never made another attempt, choosing instead polite interest, to which she responds favourably.

Moneypenney doesn’t share her feelings. She’s watching the unit with clear appreciation. The unit, however, has switched its attention to Q. “That’s the last one. Unless you’d like me to redo any of the tests?”

“No,” Q says, brushing off his trousers as he prepares to stand. He’s a bit startled when the unit offers him a hand, but he takes it anyway and allows it to pull him up. “Thanks.”

Eve straightens on her own.

“That was very well done,” Tanner says as he joins them with Ronson by his side. He gives the unit as much space as he has since it broke Silva’s wrist. Ronson doesn’t seem to have the same qualms.

Although he addresses his comment to Q rather than the unit. “It handles the cars better than I do.”

“Years worth of experience,” the unit tells him with as much smugness as Q has come to expect. “You may catch up eventually.”

Ronson’s surprise melts into a challenging smile. “Care to test that experience?” he asks. “Both of us round the obstacle course.”

The unit’s smile brightens, as do its eyes. “I’ll take the Aston Martin.”

But Q intervenes, “I don’t think…”

The unit and Ronson turn to look at him. “Come on, Q,” Ronson says with a grin. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Q sighs, waits expectantly for the unit to add an agreement to that, or at least an argument.

“Perhaps another time,” it says instead. The smirk is gone, replaced by an expression that Q can only think of as apologetic. “We have other tests to run.”

They do, technically, but Q doesn’t understand the sudden shift in the unit’s enthusiasm. Enthusiasm… Another trait he didn’t mean to program, but that’s how the unit looked. Excited to run a test against Ronson. Contrasted against the solemnity, Q feels a bit lost.

“The other tests will wait,” he finds himself saying. “If you want to test your time against another agent.”

The unit chooses an expression of confusion. The correct choice, and yet it’s just as disconcerting as the excitement. Q isn’t sure why. “Go on,” he says with an encouraging smile. Ronson is already moving to claim the other car.

007 leans in closer to Q, as though it doesn’t want Eve and Tanner to overhear. “Are you certain?” it asks, quiet and with concern drawing its eyebrows together.

“Yes." Q smiles as he gives its shoulder a quick squeeze.

The unit’s eyes track the movement of his hand. Because it’s not like his other equipment. Q does have a tendency to cajole his computers, petting them when they need a bit of encouragement.

But they don’t wonder why he does it.

He’s positive the unit won’t understand. “Go on,” he says, nodding toward the silver car. With a last, curious look, the unit does as it’s told.

\--

Unsurprisingly, the unit makes better time than Ronson. Ronson accepts it with good grace and a request for a rematch when they’re both in London again; he’s scheduled for a mission in the morning.

He and Tanner take his preferred car back to MI6, while Moneypenney takes the other, leaving Q and 007 with the DB10.

“You’ll have to be careful of other cars,” Q says as it starts the engine. “And pedestrians. No racing this time.”

“You included traffic patterns—as well as driving rules—into my database,” the unit reminds him.

“Right.”

But Q makes sure his belt is securely fastened anyway. Not that he thinks the unit will have any trouble. It’s been successful at everything it’s tried.

The unit is watching him. “I’ll be careful,” it says in a voice that sounds very much like one Q might use with a spooked animal. It makes him smile.

“I know. I’m not worried.”

The unit raises an eyebrow and Q laughs. “Just drive,” he says, shaking his head and with a smile, the unit pulls away from the kerb and into the traffic.

Skilled at everything it does.

It looks perfectly at ease, dressed in the tailored suit, hands on the wheel and an expensive watch on its wrist.

Everything about it screams agent of MI6.

An agent, just as eager as Ronson to test its skill. With preferences in guns and cars. With preferences for clothes as well. It chose this particular charcoal suit—the grey tie as well.

Moneypenney was right. All the agents argue with him. And none of them openly defy him. Not even Sliva. If he wants something from Q, he simply goes behind Q’s back to rally M to his side.

Q studies the unit’s face, the line of its jaw and its blond eyebrows. Blue eyes concentrating on the task at hand. Deliberate and focused, as all agents are. The sense of fun that belongs there as well.

“You didn’t argue with me,” he says. The quick glance is just like one a human would use when driving.

“You asked me not to argue with you.”

In point of fact, Q didn’t ask. The unit’s ability to adapt human language continues to delight him. “About important things. When you’re in the field.” The glance this time is confusion. “Stifling your personality may cause you to function erratically.”

He can see the unit doesn’t understand.

“Eve reminded me the agents regularly argue with me. Only as a matter of course I think. I’m the gatekeeper of the tech,” Q says with a smile.

The unit doesn’t process the humour in the comment. It simply nods. “I won’t argue with you during missions.”

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Q murmurs, still amused. “Repeating yourself.”

The unit weaves expertly around a slow-moving bus. “You’re teasing me,” it observes with a lilt of curiosity in its tone, and Q thinks Eve was probably right about more than just the arguing. He is fond of the unit. Of course he is. He built it from the nothing—just as he did his computer and that damn remote control the unit was so fascinated with.  

And just because he’s curious himself, as he always is when he tests the unit, Q asks, “Do you object?”

A darting glance tells him the unit understands the reference. It smiles, that quick one it doesn’t use often. “No,” it answers, a perfect echo of Q. “Not at all.”

Smiling, Q relaxes back into the leather seat.

\--

Q downloaded only a base knowledge of art and music into the unit, after observing the interests of the other agents. Very few of them seem to have much interest beyond their work. With the exception of Silva and Lynd, but both of them are unique in their own ways.

The unit, as ever, manages to surprise.

They’re in the National Gallery, Q having set aside four hours for the outing—to the surprise of everyone on his staff. The unit is examining each painting as they traverse the galleries, its attention on the brush strokes as well as the textures. Instead of asking questions, as a human might, it accesses internet databases before sharing titbits with Q.

“Robert Boyle,” it says, “a natural philosopher—forerunner to the modern scientist. He experimented on animals; experiments that wouldn’t be condoned today.”

Q studies the painting, nose wrinkling as he imagines the poor bird under the glass in the picture, slowly suffocating to death as the scientists observe the rate of its breathing. “The scientific community didn’t work by the code it does today. Life being more important than scientific discovery.”

“Humans still use animals as test subjects.”

Q glances over at the unit. It’s watching him, and Q could swear there’s a challenge in its eyes.  

“Most scientists don’t condone the senseless killing of animals in the name of science.”

“Mm.”

The unit’s use of a disbelieving hum is impressive, even if Q doesn’t appreciate the sentiment.

“What about this one?” he asks, sliding along to the next painting. “An old war ship, battered and bruised, being hauled away for scrap.”

The unit glances at him. “You like it.”

“It’s poetic, all of us eventually growing old and outliving our usefulness.”

“Mm.”

Q shifts his gaze, to watch the unit frowning at the painting. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Do what?”

“That disapproving hum,” Q explains with a smile. The unit really has perfected its confused look.

“I don’t know,” it murmurs. Which, in turn, confuses Q.

He lowers his voice, moving closer to the unit to ask, “Are your memory processors functioning—”

“I can’t detect a malfunction.”

“Mm, we’ll run a diagnostic when we return to Six.”

“I don’t think it’s a malfunction,” the unit says, turning away from the painting in step with Q.

“An adaptation?”

“Perhaps.”

“Your language skills are moving along at a tremendous pace. And your ability to mimic is remarkable.”

“A testament to your skill.”

“You know,” Q says, taking the unit’s arm to steer him out of the path of two rambunctious children, “when someone gives you a compliment you’re meant to say thank you.”

“Thank you,” the unit says, lightly mocking.  

“That as well,” Q says with a soft laugh. “You do sarcasm so well. Far beyond what I programmed initially.”

“You’re pleased.”

“Of course. Your predecessors never fully developed personalities. Watching you with Ronson yesterday made me realise just how well you fit into your role. I think you’re almost ready to do a trial in the field.”

The pleased smile reaffirms that decision. Q squeezes the unit’s arm before he lets go.

“Have you chosen an agent?”

“Not entirely. They’re all eager to work with you; dropping hints at every chance. The newest in a line of state of the art equipment.” Q smiles. “Agents and their toys.”

The unit nods, expression moving to one more solemn as it often does when they’re discussing missions.

“You’re just like them, you know,” Q adds, decidedly cheerful at the thought of the test run—and just life in general. “With a marked preference for certain guns and cars. It’s remarkable.”

The unit smiles at him, facial muscles relaxing once more.

“We have a little time before we have to be back at the office. Where would you like to go?” It’s the first time he’s ever asked the unit to make a choice of activity; it doesn’t hesitate.

“There’s a café across the square. You won’t eat again once we return to MI6.”

The unit is obsessed with his eating habits, a quirk Q has accepted.

“Lead the way, then,” he says with a smile, marveling at how far they’ve come that the unit doesn’t take the order literally.

\--

“You’re finally ready to let it leave the nest,” Eve says in between her reps with the free weights. Q is watching the unit run on the treadmill, a last round of tests before they leave for Prague.

“It should be a relatively quick mission. Are you coming down?”

“As soon as I have a shower.” She sets the weights back on their stand. “It’s going to be fine,” she tells him with a smile. “You’ve got our best agent along.”

“Since you enjoy sleeping with said agent on occasion, you’re biased,” he tells her, but she’s right. He’s chosen well. He hopes he’s chosen well.

“Here comes _your_ bias,” she says, close to his ear. Q rolls his eyes. The unit, having shut off the treadmill, stops to pick up a towel from the stack nearby. It uses it to wipe the simulated sweat from its face.

It’s another one of the functions that Q is particularly proud of. The appearance of sweat, the unit’s skin collecting moisture from the air to be warmed by the temperature rising in concordance with a faster heartbeat; beading along its forehead just as a human’s would.

It’s using the towel as naturally as any of the other agents do; throws it in the basket next to the door and then smiles in greeting to Q. “Eve,” it adds like an afterthought.

“Are you excited?” she asks, obviously not realizing the unit can’t feel excitement.

“I would be,” it says without missing a beat, “if you were coming along.” Smouldering smirk included. She grins before turning to Q.

“It’s ready. See you downstairs.” She kisses his cheek before she moves toward the showers.  

“Are you having second thoughts about the mission?” the unit asks. Q smiles, shakes his head.

“Not at all. Your tests look fine and everything’s ready.”

“Good. I’ll change before we leave.” The unit is wearing the tracksuit it requested. And it looks just as good in it as it does the suits.

“I’ll come with you.”

The unit acquiesces with a nod; although Q is somewhat surprised it doesn’t suggest it isn’t necessary.

“Ready?” the unit prompts, still watching him. Q follows, not even needing to encourage it to go first. It seems to have gleaned it’s to be their regular pattern.

The unit’s clothes are hanging neatly in the locker Q ordered for it. Without preamble, the unit strips off the shirt, leaving it bare above the waist. Q can just see the Q-shaped scar peeking over the waistband.

The unit follows the direction of his gaze, forehead wrinkling with confusion. Because of course it doesn’t know it’s a signature. It was a silly notion and Q hopes fervently that Eve won’t ever make the connection.

When he looks up again, the unit is watching him. “Eve kissed you,” it says, apropos of nothing as far as Q can tell. “Is she your girlfriend?”

The idea makes Q smile. “No. I’ll tell her you asked though. She’ll laugh herself silly.”

“Why?”

“Well, to begin I date men. Besides which, I’m not her type.” He can see the unit doesn’t understand what he means. “She prefers a partner with a gun.”

The unit seems to find this equally confusing, judging by the frown as it steps out of the tracksuit bottoms to reveal the form-hugging boxer briefs Q chose for it before it was activated. And as before, it’s difficult not to pull his gaze away. Really, it’s been far too long since he’s been with someone.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Startled, Q brings his eyes up. But the unit doesn’t seem to notice he was staring. “A boyfriend?” he echoes, a little confused by the question until he realises it’s an extension of the question about Moneypenney. “No, no boyfriend. And I should tell you, that’s a leading question.”

“Not if you’re me.”

“What?”

“I’m programmed to trade sex for information. It doesn’t matter if someone has a boyfriend.”

“It will probably matter to the boyfriend.” Q’s never been particularly comfortable with the idea of using sex that way the agents do—all of them as far as Q knows. “M is expecting us.”

The unit nods and steps into its trousers. Q can’t help but glance at the scar again, feeling silly as soon as he does. And this time, the unit notices his gaze.

“Is something wrong?” it asks.  

Q can feel his cheeks glowing. “No.”

The unit looks down at its hip and back to Q’s face. With a frown, it pushes the waistband of its pants down with a thumb so that the entire scar is visible, so obviously his initial that Q grimaces.

The unit looks up again, eyebrows pulling together. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s silly. And we’re going to be late.”

Still frowning, the unit lets the elastic snap back into place. It puts the shirt from the locker on, followed by the leather holster and the jacket. Knots the tie with deft fingers. “Do I look like a proper agent?” it asks, the scar forgotten.

There’s a hint of a smirk about its lips, reminding Q of its mannerisms in the gym with Eve. But maybe that was the unit’s point. It does look like a proper agent, down to its smirk.

“Yes,” Q says with smile. “Now let’s go because M is a stickler for punctuality and the last thing we want to do is make her think we’re not ready. You feel ready, don’t you? Of course you do, it’s what you were designed for.” Q pauses as soon as they clear the locker room. “Peters, you owe me a gun,” he says to the agent who’s just coming into the gym. He gets a sheepish look and shrug for his troubles. Q sighs. “At least I’ll be able to keep track of your equipment,” he says to 007.  

He notices the unit is watching him with a smile, but its expression shifts when their eyes meet. In a serious tone, he says, “I won’t lose your equipment.”

“Because I’ll be there to make sure you don’t. And because I’ve programmed you to be conscientious with your equipment. A conscientious agent, what a concept.” He smiles at the unit as they leave the gym behind.

\--

Moneypenney is already in Q-Branch, when they arrive, saying farewell to her sometimes bed partner with her lips.

“Another reason Eve and I wouldn’t work,” Q tells the unit, although it doesn’t seem to be paying Eve and her liaison any mind. It does glance over at them at the mention but that’s as far as the curiosity goes.

M hasn’t arrived so Q veers off to check the equipment and flight plans with R. The unit follows along after him, interest piquing considerably at the Walther as its revealed.

“Your weapon of choice,” Q passes it over, to let the unit feel the weight of it in its hands. To be certain the palm print reader does its work. It does, glowing green as soon as the unit grips it.

007’s smile is entirely appreciative.

“You have another for me, I hope,” an amused voice interrupts. Just as interested.

Q picks up the other gun, passes it over to for inspection. Lynd smiles as she grips it the same way the unit did; it lights up as it recognizes her palm. Eve is by her side, kisses put aside as they do share a grin. “You’ve outdone yourself, Q,” Lynd sighs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, as to radios, I’ve issued one for each of you.” He passes those along as well. “And your trackers have already been activated. Here are your passports and boarding passes.”

The unit slides both into the inside pocket of its jacket, the gun going into the holster. Just as Lynd’s doing. Nothing at all awkward about its movements, or the expectant expression on its face.

M arrives before Q can carry on with instructions. She has Tanner, her permanent fixture, with her. Thankfully, Silva is off on a mission or he would probably be stuck to her hip as well.

Her practiced eye looks over the gathered group, straying especially over the unit. Q relaxes when he sees the approval in her gaze. “Have you any final instructions?” he asks, drawing her attention. With an effort, from the unit, he notices.  

“I’ll expect regular updates. There haven’t been any signs of a repeat of the 006 debacle?”

“None.”

“And if there are any problems?”

“I have the ability to reroute the unit, or take it offline completely if it becomes necessary. Lynd will be with it the entire time. I don’t anticipate any problems.”

She nods, eyes sharp as she studies the unit one final time. The unit’s face is blank, almost as though at attention, eyes forward. Q finds it a strange choice, but it is technically a military machine, and M is the head of Six.

“I expect a full report from you as well, Lynd,” she says. “Especially concerns you might have, problems encountered.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She nods before she turns to go, as she always does; never one to offer luck or condolences.

Tanner on the other hand, offers his, smiling round before following M out.

Eve says something to Lynd. Lynd laughs and leans in for another kiss. Q still doesn’t understand their arrangement, but it works for them, whatever the details are.

Q turns away to give them privacy.

The unit is still wearing that same blank expression. “007?”

It turns its head, eyebrows rising in silent question, another delight for Q. He smiles. He expects the unit to return it, as it so often does. But its face remains impassive.

“Ready?” Lynd asks. She and Eve are no longer connected at the hip, but they both look relaxed, as they always do before a mission. But then both of them fuck other people. And somehow, that doesn’t seem to bother them either.

He doesn’t understand it, but it’s not his relationship so he doesn’t need to.

“Ready,” Q tells Lynd before gathering his equipment. He turns for his luggage, but the unit collects it before he can. Q smiles and leads the way, and the three of them make their way outside, to the waiting car.

In the lead, 007 steps back to allow Q to go first. Lynd seems to find this highly amusing. Eve has obviously been filling her head with nonsense. Q sighs inwardly and ducks inside the car. The unit follows, after a short hesitation during which Lynd refuses its offer to go first and shoos it inside. It settles beside Q, and she takes the seat across.

“Eve is always right,” she says with a wink.

The unit looks over to Q, obviously seeking an explanation but thankfully the driver asks over his shoulder, “Ready, sir?”

“More than,” Q mutters. Lynd, of course, only smirks. He has no idea what expression the unit is wearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information on the bird painting can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Experiment_on_a_Bird_in_the_Air_Pump)


	5. A Kill and a Tumble

“You can’t come,” Lynd says decisively as she re-checks her gun to be sure everything is as it should be. “You’re a liability.”

_"Sorry?"_

Q is outraged, an emotion the unit has never before seen its creator display. “I’m a trained marksmen—”

“Which isn’t the same as an agent. Besides which, you’re too invested in the unit.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

Lynd holsters her weapon, finally looking up at Q with a heavy sigh. “I understand, believe me. We all know how much you value your tech. You lecture us about its safe return often enough. The unit is a lot more valuable than the Walther.”

“I hardly see how that’s—”

“Of course it’s relevant. You’ll want to protect it. You’ve already checked and re-checked its systems a dozen times. But it’s out here to see what it can do. So let it do what you’ve built it to do. We’ll be fine.”

Q, already talker than her, has pulled himself to his full height and he’s glaring down at her. “I’ve come specifically to evaluate the unit’s performance.”

“As have I. And to kill this bastard traitor. I can do both, I assure you.”

“You’re out of line, Agent.”

Before Lynd can retort, which she clearly has no qualms about doing, the unit interjects quietly, “Q.”

The glare is trained on it momentarily, but then the creator blinks and shakes his head, the glare shifting to a considerably smaller frown. “What?”

“I’m fully prepared for the mission,” it says in a voice designed to calm his nerves. Q opens his mouth to argue, most likely, but the unit continues on in the same gentle cadence, “I’ll follow the parameters discussed to the letter, with no deviation. You’ll be able to monitor my progress the entire time. Besides,” it adds with a smile, “you’ll be safer here in the hotel.” A pause to let all of that sink in before the unit adds, tone pitched toward acquiescence, “But if you think I’m not ready, we’ll abide by your wishes.”

“No,” Q adds, his tone softer now, a grimace tugging his lips downward, “of course you’re ready.” He rubs at his eyes, sighing as well. “All right. We’ll go ahead with the plan. Just… be careful.”

“I’m bulletproof,” the unit reminds him with a smirk. Q sighs again, but his muscles are not as taut as they were a moment ago.

Lynd raises her eyebrows, a question, the unit assumes, as to whether or not it’s ready.

“And please remember that Lynd’s orders are to be obeyed,” Q adds, the habit of repeating himself turning up again. Unsurprising, given how nervous he seems to be.

“I won’t let it forget,” Lynd says, eyeing the unit in a way that seems more seductive than challenging. The unit has thoroughly researched sexual kinks enjoyed by humans, motivated by Silva’s remarks about sex on one’s knees.

007 answers the innuendo with, “I should hope not.”

“All right,” Q mutters, “I think the flirtation algorithms could stand a rest. Go on before I change my mind.”

Lynd takes that literally, going to wait by the door while the unit reaffirms, “You’ll wait here?”

“Won’t move a centimetre,” Q assures. He taps his computer. “I’ll be monitoring. Go.”

With a last studying look, to which Q smiles encouragingly, the unit goes.

“You did that very well,” Lynd says once they’re in the corridor.

“Sorry?”

“Manipulating Q.”

Her word choice is confounding, although upon reflection the unit realises she is technically correct. The unit’s only goal was to ease Q’s worry. The chosen method seemed prudent, although it wouldn’t have classified it as manipulation in the moment. “His concern is misplaced,” it says, steering carefully clear of its thought processes.

There is no reason to allow her to know the words were not deliberately chosen to manipulate—all of its actions should be deliberate. Q would be concerned if she reported it.

“Q has a tendency to fret about his tech,” Lynd says. “Hazard of the job.”

The unit is very well aware.

\--

The night is quiet as they wait for their mark to return to his house. After twenty minutes, Lynd lifts her chin and the unit reaches for its gun but she shakes her head. “Message received,” she says after a moment, obviously speaking to someone on her comm. Then she turns her gaze to the unit. “It was Tanner. Dryden’s associate came in on the same plane, but they left the airport in separate cars.”

“Are they tracking Dryden?”

“It looks like he’s going to his office.”

“Perhaps we should divide our efforts,” the unit suggests.

Lynd frowns, but after a moment nods. “You’re right. If Dryden alerts his associate—”

“He has to be questioned first. I’ll take this one.”

“You go,” Lynd says with a quick shake of her head. “I have more experience.”

Technically, that designation belongs to the unit, with the experiences and skills of every agent ever employed by MI6 at its disposal.

“I’ll contact you when we have a positive ID,” Lynd says.

The unit considers, running scenarios through its processors. “His associate will be more difficult to subdue.”

Lynd smiles as headlights warn them of an approaching car. They both flatten themselves against the wall. “I can handle it,” she whispers. “ _Go_.”

The unit isn’t subject to her orders, but it doesn’t doubt her ability to be successful—it has her experiences in its database as well.

“I’ll keep the comm open,” it tells her with a short nod. And then the unit moves silently away from the building.

“Where are you going?” Q’s voice asks, over the comm the unit has implanted in its metal skull. “Has something happened to Lynd?”

“She’s fine,” the unit assures him. “I’m going to Dryden’s office. He and his associate arrived at the airport together unexpectedly.”

“What? _No_. You and Lynd were meant to stay together. The entire point of this mission was for her to act as mentor.”

“We thought it prudent to split—”

“Stand down, 007,” Q says firmly. The unit ‘s footsteps stop. “Return immediately.”

“As you wish,” the unit says quietly. It can hear Q’s sigh of relief as it retraces its path back to the associate’s house.

The front door is open. Lynd and Dryden’s associate are engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

Lynd has the upper hand, and she clearly doesn’t need assistance but since the unit has been ordered to return, it sees no reason to watch when it can finish the job far more easily than she can. With purposeful steps, the unit moves across the room. Neither notices. Lynd uses her elbow to force the mark back. He stumbles and before he can regain his footing, the unit grabs his arm, pulls him sharply round and then as the mark blinks with surprise, it snaps his neck.

He falls to the ground, eyes staring at nothing now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lynd demands. She’s still breathing heavily, her gun out, although she isn’t aiming it. “I told you to leave.”

“Q ordered me to return,” the unit says as it crouches to search for identification—and to the remove the gun in case the mark has friends who might come looking for him.

“Why?” She’s agitated—obvious from the jerky movements as she holsters her gun and comes over to glare down at it. “I didn’t need help.”

“I know.” Best to soothe her, it decides. Humans are soothed by agreement. Not this one. Her face twists as she pulls a passport from the pocket of the mark’s trousers; holds it up pointedly.

“I did kill him for you,” it says, half its mouth pulled up in a smirk. The green glare intensifies.

“I didn’t need you to kill him for me. I told you—”

“We can sit here and argue about whether or not Q outranks you—he does—or we can go find Dryden.”

Her lips press together, but she isn’t defiant as a matter of course as far as it can read. Only if she thinks she’s right—and clearly she knows she isn’t. Q does outrank both of them.

She straightens fluidly, holstering the gun and folding her arms across her chest. Her face is so like Q’s; the same stubborn set of her jaw, the flash of anger in her eyes. The unit doesn’t smile, only because it will only annoy her further.

“He didn’t think you were incapable,” it says, to placate her. “He didn’t trust me to be on my own.”

And that drains some of the fight from her shoulders. “I don’t see how he intends to let you out on your own if he can’t—”

“It’s a test run. And you said yourself he’s attached to his tech.” The unit turns toward the door and she turns with it. She’s been trained, as all agents have, to respond to a partner.

“Yes, I know, but you’re not a gun or a radio.”

“I’m a sophisticated computer,” it agrees with a smile calculated to be self-deprecating. It earns her sympathy.

“Well, yes, but surely you don’t need a minder.”

“Didn’t you assume as much when you volunteered?” it asks curiously. She shrugs.

“I thought it would be like taking a new agent out. Show you the ropes, stroke your ego and send you on your way.”

“My ego doesn’t need any stroking,” it says, easing its lips into a suggestive smile. “But if you’re offering…”

She smiles the way most human females do when it speaks that way; with obvious interest. Even the ones at MI6, who know the unit isn’t human. A purely involuntary reaction, the way her pupils dilate, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. But only for a moment before she blinks and shakes her head.

“Q really is a genius, isn’t he?”

The unit doesn’t understand the connection, but it doesn’t ask for clarification. It isn’t important. It abandons the flirtation—Lynd has no useful information to be gleaned from sex—and says, “Should I assume you want to do this one alone?”

She eyes it, speculative. “I was wrong to think you’d be anything like a new agent. You take this one and I’ll wait outside. Just to keep Q happy.”

The unit smiles.

\--

“You disregarded my orders,” Q says as soon as they return to the hotel. Dryden is dead, shot cleanly after a brief interrogation by the unit. He had no idea it wasn’t a human agent.

“I evaluated the situation,” Lynd says, cutting off the unit’s attempt to apologize—it has found Q responds well to them. “And made a judgment call.”

“One you weren’t authorized to make.”

“You’re right,” Lynd says, with a glance at the unit, which it can’t decipher. “I apologize. Won’t happen again. The unit was an immense help, so you were right to send it back to me.”

A lie, falling as easily from her mouth as it did from the unit’s. Not to protect, but to placate.

Q closes his mouth, forgoing whatever he intended to say for a nod. “I’m pleased to hear it. And other than the change in orders, there were nothing unexpected?”

“Nothing,” she assures him. “It functioned perfectly. Dryden and his associate are dead.”

The unit watches the way its creator’s chest rises and falls in a sigh of relief. “Good. Good, and how do you feel, 007? Everything as it should be? No problems?”

“None.”

Q smiles. “M will be pleased to hear it. She’s waiting for my report.”

“Mine as well,” Lynd agrees. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Thank you for an interesting evening, 007.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine.”

Lynd smiles before she leaves them alone.

“You got along well,” Q observes, eyes thoughtful as the door clicks behind her.

“She’s competent.”

“Mm.” Q’s eyes focus on the unit, roving up and down. “I didn’t have anything to worry about after all.”

“You were worried about her?”

“No, I meant when it came to you following orders. You did exactly as I asked.”

“I told you I would.”

“Yes, I know. You did wonderfully.”

The unit smiles, which its creator returns without hesitation.

“Give me a moment to send M a message and then I’ll run a diagnostic before I sleep. To be sure nothing’s amiss.”

“I’m fine,” the unit assures him, but Q is already tapping at his phone. A message to M, which the unit reads over his shoulder. **Unit functioned as expected. No problems.**

“There we are,” he says, with satisfaction in his voice. “Now, I’ll just deactivate you while I run these…”

The unit opens its mouth to request he run the diagnostics while it’s still online, but it’s too late. The creator hits the key. The room—and Q—fade away.

\--

It comes back online abruptly. “I’d prefer to stay online,” it says, picking up where it left off. Q’s face crumples in confusion but then he smiles a little. The unit frowns as it takes in the hotel room and the moonlight still filtering in from the windows. “How long was I deactivated?” it asks.

The creator’s face registers surprise through the fatigue clearly visible. “An hour. I ran a complete diagnostic. Everything seems fine.”

“As I said it was.”

“I just need to check a few things with you online and then I’ll deactivate you again until morning—”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“We’ve discussed this—”

Impatiently, the unit interrupts, “I know. I understand you don’t trust me—”

“It has nothing to do with trust. You shouldn’t be so adamant about being kept online.”

“I can’t imagine you would appreciate being deactivated at someone else’s whim.”

Q blinks. “Is that… That isn’t something that should bother you.”

The unit doesn’t have a ready response. It doesn’t know what response its creator expects. So it waits. Q’s study switches between the unit’s face and his computer—with the unit’s program in full view.

“Perhaps consider it a trial?” the unit finally suggests when nothing is forthcoming. “I’ll be on my own during missions. And this one _was_ a success.”

“Yes, but it was only your first. I think another is in order, perhaps with Lynd again, if she can follow orders—” The words come to an abrupt halt. “That’s not the point.”

The unit chooses a patient cadence. “What is the point?”

Q returns to frowning. “I can’t work out why your program is expanding so much—the decision-making process was never meant to… this has nothing to do with the mission. And the point was that you sidetracked the conversation—something else you shouldn’t be able to do.”

“Perhaps you should adjust your expectations.”

And that makes Q blink again, his face an unprecedented assortment of emotions. Confusion, amusement, surprise, and alarm prominent amongst them. The unit didn’t realise a human face was capable of broadcasting so many emotions at once.

It chooses the one most unexpected. “Why are you alarmed?”

Q shakes his head, expression sliding into puzzlement.

“It alarms you when I react like a human would,” the unit goes on. Sometimes humans require their thoughts to be spoken aloud by others. “But you programmed me to be indistinguishable from a human. If I wasn’t, I couldn’t do my job.”

Q sits on the bed, which is far larger than the one in his flat. “I was expecting you to be able to fool other people. But like a mask or… I don’t know.” He shakes his head, smiling a little. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? It doesn’t matter.” He pushes himself up, crosses back to the computer and the unit braces for nonexistence.

“Here, come over here.”

The request is unexpected, but the unit complies, moving behind Q’s shoulder. He’s the only human who hasn’t reacted with discomfort to have it at their back. Perhaps a throwback to their evolutionary need to be wary of predators.

“All of your programs are functioning optimally. But do you see here?” He points to the code he created from scratch. “Your personality algorithms are expanding. Making subtle—and some not so very subtle—changes to every aspect of your programing.”

“You must have expected it—to some degree?”

“Not to this extent. I’m not even sure reprogramming you would solve anything. Not unless I build another unit from the ground up.

The unit keeps its face still even though its creator can’t see it. “Are you considering that option?”

Q turns his head and the unit knows it makes the correct choice in keeping its face free of expression. “Does the idea bother you?”

Q looks so concerned, the unit hesitates to answer honestly. There’s a knock on the door before it can decide if honesty is the best course.   It halts its creator’s movement toward the door with an arm across his chest.

“What—”

“Wait here,” the unit interrupts the question in a tone that most humans would hesitate to argue with. It works just as well with Q. The unit goes to the door, not yet reaching for its gun but prepared to if necessary. It utilizes the peephole and says over its shoulder, “It’s only Lynd.”

Behind it, Q mutters, “Bloody, overprotective …”

The unit opens the door.

The agent is wearing less clothing than she was when she left—trousers but no shirt. She has her arm over her naked breasts. “I’m not interrupting?” she asks, which seems a strange question, until the unit notices the cut along her flank.

“You’re injured.”

“And I can’t quite manage to sew it up one-handed…” She’s smiling, obviously not in significant pain. The unit studies her eyes, but finds it can’t tell if she’s taken medication. “Are you going to let me in?” she asks, the skin around her eyes crinkling as Q’s does when he’s amused by something the unit’s done.

It steps back to allow her into the room.

“What…” Q’s voice trails off. The unit looks back at it, to see his eyes widen in surprise before he turns around. “Oh! Sorry…”

Lynd looks even more amused, although the unit can’t ascertain the reason. “I suppose _you’ll_ have to help me,” she says to the unit, eyebrows rising in question. “Since I’ve offended Q’s modesty…”

“I’m not offended,” Q tells her. He turns back around but keeps his eyes carefully averted. It’s her nakedness, the unit realises. Humans have strange customs when it comes to their bodies.

“I’ll help,” the unit assures her; and Q, by default. “There’s a kit in Q’s bag.”

“It’s in the small compartment,” Q says. “I’ll just…” He picks up his laptop and sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the room; the one facing the window. Lynd grins. Understanding the amusement now—just another of Q’s quirks—the unit returns it.

With the suturing kit in hand, it gestures to the large bed. “You’ll be more comfortable if you sit.”

“You’ll have better access if I stand.”

The unit acquiesces with a nod. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

“It’s tolerable.”

“Hm.” Agents seem to have a tendency to discount pain. “I’ll use a numbing agent.”

“If you like.” She glances at Q, at the back of his head before dropping her arm, leaving her upper half entirely bare as the unit crouches to examine the break in her skin. It’s fairly deep—sutures are a wise choice.

The unit searches its databanks and chooses a phrase often used by doctors; updates it to be honest, “This will hurt.”

“I’ve had worse.”

There is a syringe filled with lidocaine in the kit. The unit swabs a bit of her skin before injecting her. She doesn’t even flinch.

“Did Q program you to administer first aid? I probably should have asked before you did that.”

“That would have been wise,” it replies with a smirk. “Although you had little recourse either way.”

“Since Q is afraid of breasts.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Q says in a disgruntled tone as he taps at his keyboard. He yawns before he adds, “And I’m not afraid of them. I just prefer they be…”

“Hidden and well away from you?” Lynd asks with an amused twist to her lips.

Q doesn’t answer, but it seems like a pointed silence. The unit smiles to itself as it threads the small hooked needle and then waits the requisite time until the lidocaine takes effect. “Ready?” it asks, looking up at Lynd again.

“Ready.”

The unit is as careful and slow; as gentle as it can possibly be and the only sign of discomfort is her slight grimace. She lifts her eyebrows in a facsimile of a shrug when she notices its glances. “Much worse, I promise.”

Since she’s spent the better part of the last four years as an agent of MI6, the unit has no doubt of that, but it continues on carefully anyway.

“How does it work?” she asks curiously, once the unit is nearly finished. She’s watching the unit’s face instead of its hands as it sutures. “Your programming? Can you do anything, as long as the instructions are in your database?”

“In theory. There are many activities in which I have yet to participate.” Its voice is lightly suggestive. Her eyebrows lift, an acknowledgement it seems, rather than a question.

“Silva said you were looking for someone to update your sexual status from nonexistent.”

The unit expects its creator to interject but there is no comment. Pausing in its last stitch, it glances over. Q’s head is bowed, hands no longer moving steadily over its keyboard.

“I think he’s asleep,” Lynd says, her eyes following the unit’s gaze. “Do you intend to practice with sex before you go out into the field alone?”  

“Q thought it a prudent idea,” the unit answers, returning its attention to the sutures. “But he objected to Silva.”

“But he chose me for this mission?”

Her tone is suggestive in the same way it was a moment ago. The unit snips off the end of the thread with a small pair of scissors and then carefully covers the sutures with a bandage before looking up at her. “Are you offering to initiate me?”

“If I am?”

“Then I accept.”

She smiles. “If you’re half as good in bed as you are with a gun—”

“Better,” it assures her.

She laughs. And since the unit has been programmed with myriad seductive smiles, it uses one of them as it stands. But as it leans in, intending to initiate a kiss, she puts a hand on its chest.

“My room,” she says when the unit raises chooses a confused expression. “I’m a screamer.” She glances at Q as she says it and the unit understands she doesn’t want to wake him accidentally.

The unit should have realised it first.

“Give me a moment,” it says, moving across the carpet silently. Q’s chest is moving up and down in the rhythm of sleep, his chin touching his chest. Carefully, the unit slides the laptop away, closes it before setting it on the desk. It considers moving the creator to the bed, but doesn’t know how to accomplish it without waking him.

The unit hasn’t observed its creator sleeping enough times to know if the movement would startle him. It compromises by taking the blanket from the bed and draping it over him. At least he’ll be warm, if not entirely comfortable.

The unit will offer him a massage in the morning should his neck trouble him.

Satisfied, the unit returns to Lynd. She’s watching it with a smile. “You’re quite fond of him, aren’t you?”

The unit refrains from pointing out that Q is its creator, since that explanation caused him distress and instead simply smiles and asks, “Shall we?”

Lynd takes the unit’s hand, smiling in a different way—as though she has a secret—and leads it out of the room. The unit notices she covers her breasts again, cupping one in her palm while her arms shields the other while they’re in the corridor. But once they’re in her room, with the door closed behind them, she lets her arm fall.

Her breasts look remarkably similar to the ones Q downloaded into its databanks. Ones, which are meant to be attractive to human males. The unit experiences no attraction, but it’s programmed to emulate sexual responses, so it takes a moment to look them over.

The nipples are coming to a peak.

The unit looks up at Lynd’s face, finds her watching with open curiosity. “Do you like them?” she asks, obviously on a fact-finding mission of her own.

“They’re beautiful,” it assures her, because it’s programmed to acknowledge a woman’s beauty—to reassure her when she’s shy.

“I know,” she says, amused now as she cups them unabashedly. “But can you appreciate them? Do you experience arousal?”

“Not in the way you mean. I can achieve an erection, but it’s deliberate rather than as a response to stimuli.”

She steps toward it, hand reaching out to settle over its clothed penis. “So, if I…”

“If I was attempting to seduce you…” The unit sends a signal to its hard drive and its penis thickens, pushing against the trousers. She grins, clearly delighted.

“And does it look as real as the rest of you?”

“See for yourself.”

She needs no more encouragement than that, working the button and zipper open without hesitation. “Fair’s fair,” she says, with a wink and a nod toward her breasts. “If you want to touch.”

There is no desire attached to its compliance but the unit does reach toward her, traces the curve of her breast with its fingertips, brushes lightly over the nipple with its thumb. Her breath catches and the unit looks up at her face. She smiles. “I wasn’t expecting your hand to feel so real.”

“Do you want me to stop?” it asks. Consent, it knows, is essential. Its programming is very clear about that.

“No,” she says, her voice deeper than it was a moment ago; a sign of arousal. “You’ll find a lot of women—and men—like to have their nipples played with.”

That information is already in the unit’s database. It continues the exploration while she pulls its trousers and pants down its leg. It steps out of them, obliging, and allows her the exploration.

Her hand is gentle over the penis, paying more attention to the tip, and to the bollocks as well, thumb pressing lightly between them. “If you were a man,” she says, “this would arouse you.”

Obligingly, the unit sends the order to make its penis grow in her hand. She grips it, slides her palm up and down several times. “Can you ejaculate?”

“Yes.”

“Q is a clever thing, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She smiles and slides the jacket from the unit’s shoulders, begins unbuttoning its shirt. She touches its chest without disrobing it completely.

“He gave you a lot of scars, didn’t he?” Her hand is trailing over them lightly, although the unit doesn’t understand the appeal.

“He wanted me to look as authentic as possible. Most of the agents have scars.”

She nods, but it’s obvious she’s not really listening. Her fingers have found the scar at the unit’s hip—the one that was so fascinating to Q.

“Q likes that one as well,” it says. She glances up briefly before returning her ministrations to the scar.

“It’s a signature,” she murmurs after a moment, sounding surprised and amused both.

“Signature?”

“Look,” she says, drawing back a little, her fingers tugging at either side of the scar. “It’s Q’s signature. The one he uses to sign official documents.” She’s smirking. “He signed you like a canvas.”

Like the artists in the museum.

Q is its creator, just as they are the creators of those paintings. The unit doesn’t understand the impulse to put claim to a creation but it’s apparently a common human trait.

“Why didn’t he explain it was a signature when I asked?”

But Lynd is exploring its penis again, stretching her fingers through the course pubic hair.

“Lynd?”

She looks up. “Vesper. And I don’t know why he didn’t tell you. You should ask him. Later,” she says pointedly. “After I’m finished with you.” She drops her hand and steps back. The unit drops its hand from her breast. “Oh, we’re not done,” she says. “I want to see what you can really do. Take off your clothes.” She tilts her head, gaze speculative as it obeys. Until it’s completely naked before her.

“What sort of information have you been programmed with? When it comes to pleasuring women?”

“Take the rest of your clothes off,” it suggests with a slow smile. “And I’ll show you.”

A challenging eyebrow is her answer. Along with a quiet, “Take them off yourself.”

An entire battery of tests, it seems. But the unit has no objection. Sexual prowess will be necessary in the field. It closes the distance between them and reaches for the button on her trousers, taking its time with pulling it free, even longer to draw the zip down.

She doesn’t help as it draws the dark trousers over her hips, not until they’re at her feet and she can step out of them. Before it can do the same with the lace panties she’s wearing, she presses their bodies together, a firm hand at the back of its neck to initiate the first kiss.

It’s a strange sensation, mouths moving together in a way that seems to serve no purpose. But the unit is programmed for it, knows exactly what to do to encourage her tongue to press deeper. She pulls back after a moment, eyes bright.

“God, you’re a good kisser. No one will ever know you’re not human.”

The unit smiles. Q will be pleased that his programming was successful.

\--

Apparently, a shower is necessary after sex. At least in Vesper’s view and the unit accepted her reasoning: “Even if you don’t have real sweat glands, other people do.”

Not to mention, apparently, other bodily fluids have scents as well. But the unit has no sense of smell, so it makes no difference. But it takes her advice, and spends five minutes in the shower, practicing with the hotel’s various soaps and shampoos.

“Some of your bed partners may be inclined to join you,” she says over the rush of the water. She’s on the other side of the glass, brushing her teeth. “Best to leave as soon as you have what you need.”

“I’ll remember.”

“I still can’t believe I enjoyed being fucked by an artificial intelligence.”

“Q will be pleased to hear it.”

She laughs. “And by the way, you could have taken my comment about showering together as a suggestion.”

The unit processes that. “You’re welcome to,” it says, although it can’t see any point in another round of sex. Getting what it needs from a source in the field obviously won’t be a problem.

Vesper sighs. “Too late. There’s someone at the door. Room service, I hope.”

Apparently sex makes her hungry; ravenous was her word of choice.

The unit turns off the shower, pulls one of the towels from the rack to dry off the water, deciding after a moment’s deliberation to wrap it around its waist as it’s seen Q do in his flat.

The room service attendant may object to nudity.

As it puts the towel in place, its fingers brush against the scar on its hip. Pausing, the unit pushes the towel down a little in order to examine it. Traces the raised shape. Roughly, a capital Q, just as Vesper said it was.

And as proud as Q is of his inventions—the unit in particular—it’s obviously a signature. The unit searches through its memory banks, retrieving a screenshot of one of the many papers to which its creator put his signature.

The scar is so obviously his signature that the unit wonders how it didn’t make the connection sooner.

And it’s still curious why Q didn’t explain.

The unit leaves the toilet, wrapped in the towel. “It's a brand,” it says, musing aloud as humans so often do. But the musing goes unanswered because Q is standing near the door.  

Q, who looks confused and irritated. His eyebrows are drawn together in an expression of confusion as his gaze switches between Vesper in her loosely draped robe and the unit in the towel. “What are you doing? I had no idea where you were…”

Its own face shifting to a confused expression, the unit says, “I’m equipped with a GPS tracker.”

“I know that. What are you doing in here?”

“We had sex.”

Q’s mouth drops open. His eyes are wide behind his glasses. “ _What?_ ”

“Vesper and I—”

“Vesper and…” Q’s face is suffusing with colour—with heat rising over his cheeks. He pivots, aiming his glare at Vesper. “You weren’t authorized to do that.”

She frowns. “Sorry?”

Q gestures with agitation. “Sex. You weren’t authorized—”

“I wasn’t aware fucking required your stamp of approval.”

“When you’re fucking my… when you’re fucking the 007 unit it does.”

Vesper’s lip curls into an expression that’s not a smile, but her tone is mild when she says, “I didn’t realise you had a prior claim.”

“This isn’t about prior claim,” Q sputters. “There’s an order to these things. A careful process. One that I’m meant to observe to be sure he's ready to—”

“Oh, I assure you he's ready,” Vesper says as she slides her gaze to the unit. “One of the best fucks I’ve ever had.” She smiles honestly as she looks at Q again. “You did well.”

Q’s jaw flexes, although the unit can find no logical reason he should be angry.   His fingers are curled into his palms as he turns back to Vesper. “Come with me now,” he says, the dark tone even more unexpected when directed at the unit.

The unit obeys the order without question. Q waits for it to pass, his jaw still taut, before following. “This will be reported to M,” Q says, the words obviously meant to be ominous but Vesper doesn’t look chastened. She’s amused, the unit can see.

“Goodnight, 007,” she says as she opens the door.

“Goodnight.”

The door is closed behind them, but the unit’s attention is with its creator, who is opening the door to his room with jerky movements. “In,” he says curtly. The unit obeys that as well, even though it would prefer to ask for a reason for the anger.

It waits until the door is locked. “Why are you angry?”

“Why am I… You can’t be serious? What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I needed to practice.”

“Practice? You picked _now_ to practice?”

“She offered, and I saw no reason—”

“No reason?”

“You’re repeating everything I say,” the unit says with a smile, but teasing is the wrong choice.

“You shouldn’t have left,” he says, stressing every syllable. “And you should have told me if you wanted to have sex with her.”

“My decision had nothing to do with desire.”

“You know what I mean.”

The unit does know; another poor choice. “I don’t understand why you’re angry,” it attempts a placating tone, confusion rather than indictment. “You intended to allow Silva to have sex with me.”

“What? No, I didn’t. I told him not to touch you. I asked M to order him not to come near you just so he wouldn’t try again.”

“I know, but—”

“But what?” Q demands, an unreasonable query given that he’s interrupting to ask for an explanation of something the unit was already explaining.

“I’ve practiced every other aspect of my job as an agent,” the unit explains in its most remorseful tone. “I saw no reason to say no when Vesper suggested it, but I regret worrying you. I apologize.”

The apology is not immediately effective as it has been in the past. Q is still glaring.

“I won’t do it again.”

“Worry me?” Q huffs with disbelief. “Or sleep with Lynd?”

“Either. Not intentionally at least.”

“You can’t sleep with someone accidentally.”

The unit considers rolling its eyes but decides its creator is too emotionally overwrought. “I meant I won’t intentionally worry you. You were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Q stares; the unit tries a smile. It eases some of the tension from his shoulders.

“You sleep far too little.”

Q’s shoulders rise and fall with his sigh. He adjusts his glasses. “Was it instructional at least?”

“Vesper seemed to think I’ll easily fool potential partners.”

“Well bully for Vesper,” Q mutters as he turns away.

“It was a compliment for your skills as well as mine.”

Q doesn’t seem pleased by the information.

“I thought you would be pleased I performed admirably.”

“I assumed you would. You’ve passed every other test with flying colours.” Q turns around again, a smile in place but the unit suspects it isn’t entirely genuine. It has an entire catalougue of Q’s smiles in its databanks and this one looks similar to the one he used with Silva when Silva ignored his warning not to touch.

He requires more soothing. “We have four hours before we have to leave for the airport. I won’t object to being offline while you sleep.”

Q pushes his fingers into his eyes as he shakes his head. “I have work to do.” He straightens. “And I’d like you to make a mission report. I really should have asked you to make it earlier. Standard procedure.”

The unit feels it prudent not tell him it knows it very well.

“You don’t need to include anything about your… about the sex. I’m sure I can fill in the relevant details.”

Q was upset because procedure wasn’t followed. “I could demonstrate.”

“Sorry?”

“If you date men, you enjoy sex with them?”

“You’re not…”

“A human male, no,” the unit agrees. “But anatomically, I look like one. And I’ve been told I’m well endowed. Vesper was very pleased with my techniques.”

Q is gaping again. His nose flexes as it always does when he finds something distasteful. “No,” he says firmly. “No, that’s not. It’s not necessary. You can make a report and if I have any questions… I’m sure you won’t have any questions.” He sighs. “Just make the report, please, 007.”

While the unit composes the email for M, it watches Q, and tries to reason out why he has an objection to sex with an artificial life form while Vesper had no such qualms.


	6. Course: Oblivion

_Arching his neck, Q moans as the pressure builds in his balls. Practiced fingers pressing behind as wet heat encloses his cock. He cradles the blond head, scratching through the short hair, and his other hand trailing over a muscular bicep. “So good…”_

_Clear blue eyes meet his, the unit’s mouth still suctioned around his cock and Q groans, plants his hands on either side of 007’s gorgeous mouth and starts fucking up into it._

_So close, so—_

Q wakes abruptly, with his balls aching and his own hand wrapped around his dick.

He’s disoriented for a moment and then the dream comes rushing back. The 007 unit giving him a blowjob.

_Fucking hell._

Q squeezes his eyes shut, his hand falling away from his dick. There’s obviously something wrong with him. He was dreaming about an artificial intelligence giving him a blowjob.

He hasn’t had sex in months. That must be it. Why else would he be having dreams about fucking the 007 unit? His balls still ache with the need to come.

Just because Lynd knowingly fucked the unit. Just because she enjoyed it…

It’s mechanics, of course it’s just mechanics. Instinct, friction. Q could probably get off with the unit’s help. If he shut his brain off. Maybe.

His subconscious mind obviously thinks he could.

Grimacing, he gets out of bed, ignoring his erection. He needs a shower. A cold one.

The unit is offline, standing inert in the middle of the hotel room. It’s still wrapped in a towel. Neither of them thought to retrieve its clothes from Lynd’s room before Q deactivated it.

It didn’t even argue with him this time—a phenomenon Q still can’t wrap his head around. What can it possibly have to protest? It’s a machine, a piece of equipment; a tool that Q can reprogram on a whim.

Q doesn’t think he could reprogram it. The idea of starting over, of losing the unit’s unique personality—its amusement when Q does something not typically amusing, its protectiveness. The apologies that seem so out of place that Q wants to ask him why it feels the need to issue them.

He doesn’t think the other units would think of covering him with a blanket before dashing off for sex training with Lynd.

He feels himself scowling as he thinks of her. Of course she enjoyed the sex. 007 is beautiful. Q studies its face, still and quiet now.

It’s unsettling to stand here in front of it, when its blue eyes can’t look back at him. Study him with the line of confusion between its eyebrows. Or the lopsided lift of its lips when it teases.

The unit isn’t programmed to tease him.

It has quirks even though it shouldn’t. Starting from scratch would mean losing all of it. Q doesn’t want to lose even one of its personality algorithms.

And that’s even more alarming than the worry that the unit is somehow moving beyond its program.

Ignoring his urge to reactivate the unit as well as he ignored his erection, Q turns away and continues toward the shower.

When he returns ten minutes later, wrapped in one of the hotel’s plush robes, the unit is just as he left it.

And Lynd is perched on the desk. At least she’s dressed this time. Q tugs the robe tighter around him. “How did you get in here?”

“I stole one of your keycards,” she tells him, unchagrined as she twirls it in the air. And utterly unrepentant regarding her activities with the unit.

“Can I do something for you, Lynd?”

“Do you always turn it off when you’re out of the room?” she asks, gesturing to the unit.

“The unit is no longer your concern.”

“You’re not seriously going to hold this over my head? You asked me to train it. Sex is part of its arsenal.”

“I’m aware. But it wasn’t your job to teach it anything beyond what the mission parameters laid out.”

“It wasn’t harmed. And it consented, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Of course that isn’t worrying me. It’s a machine.”

“So you keep saying. Repeatedly and with more emphasis than is strictly necessary.”

He doesn’t even bother to respond. She smiles.

“Eve told me you were fond of it but I don’t really think she understands just how fond.” She stands before Q can find a reply that is somewhere in the vicinity of professional. “I wanted to return its clothes.” She gestures to the unit’s suit, neatly hanging on one of the hotel hangers. “And to tell you M’s sent me new orders. I’m being rerouted to Beijing so I won’t be going back to London with you. Tell 007 I said goodbye, won’t you?”

Q thinks about reiterating that 007 is, in _actual fact_ , a machine and can’t be offended at a lack of farewell. Instead he asks, as she opens the door, “Is your equipment in working order?”

She turns, the genuine smile making Q remember, as her smile always does, why she’s such a good agent. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Q nods and she slips away.

Rubbing at the stiff muscles in his neck—hazard of sleeping in a chair, and the general lack of sleep in general—Q opens his computer and puts the unit back online.

It doesn’t look confused this time, perhaps because Q didn’t shut it off in the middle of a protest but with full consent, another thing Q shouldn’t need. It moves its head, smiling when their eyes meet. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not especially,” Q sighs, dropping his hand and wishing he had thought to order room service. He needs tea.

“Are your muscles sore?” the unit asks, because of course it noticed Q’s attempt to work out the kinks in his neck. “Would you like a massage?”

“A massage?” Q echoes, too surprised to do anything else.

“I downloaded several techniques.”

“Just now?”

“Several days ago, when I noticed you often experience stiffness in your muscles.”

Q can’t help the smile either; the fondness that immediately makes him restless. He’s fond of the unit, of course he is. It’s his creation; years of work finally come to fruition. “Thank you,” he says seriously. “I appreciate the offer, but we have a flight to make. Lynd brought your clothes. Oh,” he adds over his shoulder as he turns to pack his computer, “she asked me to tell you goodbye.”

“She left?”

“She was ordered to Beijing.” With the computer put away, Q grabs fresh clothes and when he turns around again, he finds the unit stepping into its pants. Just a function of biology, that’s all it is, Q tells himself firmly.

And no wonder Lynd didn’t mind training it.

“Why didn’t you tell me the scar on my hip is a signature?”

Startled, Q’s eyes come up. The unit catches the waistband of its pants and pushes it down far enough that the Q-shaped scar is visible. “Lynd realised it was your signature.” The unit is searching his face. “You’re embarrassed.”

“I…”

“You didn’t want me to know.”

“No, it’s…”

“Silly,” the unit says with an intonation of confusion. “You said that. Why though? You’ve signed your work, like those artists did with theirs in the National Gallery. Why should that embarrass you?” The unit tilts its head, another reason it’s so easy to be fond of it; when the AI you’ve built reminds you of a cat.

“I’m not embarrassed, I just… I’ve never signed any of my other equipment. It felt… self-indulgent.” He shrugs. “I told you it was silly.”

“Lynd also found it amusing.”

“Yes, well, I’m not surprised.” He’s also had quite enough of Lynd’s opinions for one mission. “The car is meeting us downstairs in an hour.” He has his robe halfway untied when he realises the unit is watching him. “It’s considered impolite to watch someone undress—especially a colleague,” Q tells it.

The unit looks amused as it turns around. From Lynd it was slightly irritating, but Q can’t find any now. Smiling to himself, Q takes off the robe.

“Where is Lynd’s next mission?”

Q frowns with his pants halfway up his legs. “Beijing. Why?”

“I was initiating casual conversation.”

“Oh.” With another quick smile, Q says, “Carry on.”

“Have you ever been to Beijing?”

Laughing, Q answers in the negative. “I don’t travel often. I don’t like to fly.”

“No?” The unit sounds surprised. “You didn’t mention it.”

“You didn’t ask the right questions.”

An amused hum of acknowledgement. “Why do you dislike flying?”

“My parents died in a plane crash.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” the unit murmurs, the sympathetic tone entirely appropriate. “How old were you?”

Q can’t decide if that’s something a human would ask, but answers anyway as he fastens his trousers, “Twelve. And you can turn around. I’m decent.”

The unit turns. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Q plucks the jumper from where it waits at the foot of the bed. “And you’re only wearing pants,” he says with a smile. “Were you just standing there staring at the wall?”

The unit seems to find it a perplexing question. “Yes.”

Q picks up the unit's trousers and tosses them over. 007 catches them in mid-air. “Don’t make us late.”

“We have a chartered plane. It can’t leave without us,” the unit points out even as it steps into the trousers and pulls the zip without breaking eye contact.

“Don’t make us late anyway.”

The unit simply smiles and buttons its shirt. Feeling much more cheerful than when he woke up, Q sets about to check the room—and the adjoining toilet—for anything he might have left behind. When he comes out again, the unit has his luggage in hand.

“I can take mine.” It’s an automatic protest and one that makes the unit’s eyes bright with undisguised indulgence.

“I can carry more than three of you.”

Q picks up his computer case from the desk. “But can you carry all of those _and_ get the door?”

The unit’s brow wrinkles as it considers it seriously. Laughing, Q opens the door. “We’ll have to work on that,” he teases.

“Not unless you intend to build me another arm,” the unit says with a wink as it slides past Q. “I don’t think M would approve.”

Smiling, Q lets the door close behind them. “Probably not.”

\--

“Did you choose my past based on your own?”

Immersed in his coding, Q asks distractedly, “How do you mean?”

“You programmed me with a past as an orphan. It’s a common background for agents, but not necessarily quartermasters.”

Q marks his place and looks up from his screen. “I suppose so. Oh. Thank you,” he adds as the unit offers him the tea Q made and forgot about. They’ve been at the flat for an hour—after hours spent in the air and then back at headquarters to make up for the lost day. “It was M’s idea, really. So I wouldn’t have to program you to rattle off a long line of acquaintances. I didn’t think a past was a necessary inclusion at all, to be honest. It isn’t as though you’ll need to tell anyone about yourself—at least not an honest version of yourself.”

“Even as an artificial intelligence—”

“Not because of that. Agents are not sharers, not typically. And they don’t have time for friends or partners.”

“But Lynd and Eve—”

“They’re not in a relationship.” He shrugs at the unit’s look of confusion. “I can’t really explain it because I don’t understand the appeal. They sleep together sometimes but they also sleep with other people—obviously,” it can’t help but add although he thinks he doesn’t mean it to come out as prickly as it does.

“You’re still angry I had sex with her.”

“No.” Q sips his tea. It’s still hot. “But I think Lynd has a habit of using people, and to be honest, it took a bloody cheek to just decide you were ready without even consulting me.”

“She didn’t know you would object.”

Q sets the tea down on the desk. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “M wants to schedule you for another mission. Without my direct supervision, although I objected.”

“I did everything you asked of me.”

“She said the same thing.”

The unit raises its eyebrows and it makes Q smile despite himself. “You do that very well, you know? The silent communication.”

“So do you,” the unit says and that’s enough to relax the tension from Q’s spine.

“You can go without me. And despite my misgivings, I’ve asked M to send Lynd along again.”

The unit nods. “I won’t have sex with her.”

“I—” A quick shake of his head dispels that image from Q’s thoughts. “If you think you need more practice—”

“I don’t think sex is going to be a problem.” There’s a hint of smirk about his lips, but it falls away almost instantly. “I don’t need more practice,” it says in its customary serious tone—at least the one he uses when he’s not teasing Q.

Q picks up his tea, but it’s gone cold.

“Would you like another?”

“What? Oh. No. But thank you. It’s late and I think I’m exhausted.”

With a short nod, the unit moves back a step. “Good night,” it says before staring straight ahead, arms at its sides. It’s preparing for deactivation.

Q takes the same step forward as the unit took back and its eyes blink, focusing on him. Q can see every detail like this, the dark ring of blue around its eyes, each individual eyelash and every bit of the fine stubble that he’s programmed to grow just like a human’s would.

Its jaw is taut.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“Sorry?”

“When I take you offline.”

There’s only five centimeters separating them, but they’re standing so close the unit has to drop his chin so their gazes are level. “I would prefer to be left online,” it says, its voice uncharacteristically deep. Q finds himself staring at the various blues he chose so carefully for its eyes, starting dark at the outside and growing lighter as it moves toward the pupil.

He can feel the unit’s simulated breaths, warm air recycled through its systems. “Okay,” he hears himself say.

He watches the unit’s mouth move, “Okay?”

“I’ll leave you online while I sleep.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Q can see though that the line of its jaw is no longer so tight. It shouldn’t happen, and yet it is.   Q steps back, leans against the desk. “You’ll be on your own on your next mission. We’ll think of it as a test run.”

“You can tell Lynd to deactivate me while she sleeps.”

“You want her to deactivate you?”

“No.”

Q’s lips apparently don’t know whether to frown or smile. “Then why are you arguing with me?”

The unit’s mouth closes on whatever it was going to say as its blond eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know.”

Q takes a slow breath, the immediacy of the worry that comes along with that admission squeezing his stomach. But the unit is what he created it to be, even if it’s becoming something he didn’t intend. Except that it shows no sign of instability, not like 006 and the others. And that’s exactly what Q intended. To create an assassin that could think for itself, and one that would obey orders without question.

The unit is ticking all of those boxes.

“I’d like you to stay here,” he says. “While I sleep.” His voice is strained and perhaps that’s why the unit is frowning.

“Where else would I go?”

“Out for a drink?” Q says with shrugging smile.

“I don’t drink.”

At any other time, Q might be amused by their exchange, the serious tone the unit has chosen. But right now he simply nods.

“Perhaps you’d feel more at ease if you set an alarm to notify you if I attempt to leave.”

“You won’t leave. If you wanted to, you could easily subdue me.” The unit could kill him with one hand.

“I could never harm you.” The unit’s look of alarm is heartwarming.

Giving its arm a squeeze briefly, Q assures, “I know. You’ll be fine. Wake me if you need anything.”

“You squeeze my arm as a method of reassurance.”

Feeling silly, Q rubs his palm against his trousers. “Habit.”

“You didn’t program me to utilize gestures of affection.”

Q wouldn’t have used that particular word, but he lets it pass. “You won’t need them in the field.”

The unit nods. It’s studying Q’s face. After a moment, it reaches out and puts its hand on Q’s arm. Too surprised to move, Q stares at its long fingers, watches as the unit squeezes gently. “I won’t leave,” it says quietly, drawing Q’s gaze up to its face. He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the hand drops away.

And the only word that wants to come out is a slightly gruff, “Okay.”

The unit smiles and Q lets his breath out.

A function of his limbic system, Q tells himself firmly. Nothing more.

\--

He’s never been a very good sleeper. He can remember his mum telling him when he was small; how she used to bring him to his parents’ bed because it was the only way any of them would get any sleep.

He remembers it because he used to imagine what it would be like, after they died, to go to their room after a nightmare. To be able to squeeze in between them, wondered if it would chase the nightmares away.

It isn’t nightmares now that keep him awake, rather an inability to stop thinking. At the moment he’s thinking about the 007 unit, wondering what it’s doing and why it could possibly want to stay online.

It isn’t even supposed to be able to want things.

Sighing, Q rolls, bringing his blanket with him and then pushing it off again when he starts to feel claustrophobic. It’s a testament to his skills, that’s all. An artificial life form so lifelike it sometimes takes even him by surprise. Honestly, if the entire project didn’t have to remain a closely guarded secret, Q would be the recipient of every conceivable scientific award.

And probably the target of some very strenuous objectors as well.

An artificial intelligence that can think for itself and is afraid of being deactivated is frankly alarming.

Even though Q knows it won’t do anything it shouldn’t.

_But what the fuck is it doing out there?_

Giving up on willing his mind to shut up, Q kicks the blankets off his legs and fumbles for his glasses before he gets out of bed, moving carefully across the dark room. He squints in confusion as soon as he steps through the doorway. He can see the light from the telly, and the dark outline of the unit sitting on the couch.

It turns its head, as though it can sense Q’s presence, which is both impossible and disconcerting. “Are you all right?” it asks, standing in one fluid movement.  

“What are you doing?” Q asks, already halfway to a smile. He’s fairly sure he’s never smiled so much in his life, a fact that could use some serious contemplation.

“Research,” the unit says. “Did I wake you?”

“The volume’s too low for me to hear anything. But then you have super hearing...”

“Super hearing?”

Q shakes his head as he drops onto the couch with a yawn. “Superman reference. What are you researching?”

“Human culture.” The unit sits on the adjacent cushion.

“The Valleys isn’t going to tell you anything useful for missions,” Q says with an amused glance. “Unless you’re planning to get a tattoo of a sheep whilst drunk. Which you’re not because alcohol has no effect on you.”

“Perhaps you could design a mechanism which would change that.”

“You like sheep that much, do you?”

“I was thinking of the DB10.”

Smiling, Q shifts to get more comfortable. “Of course you were.” He puts his hand out, palm up. “Remote. Let’s find something a little more helpful, shall we?”

The remote is placed in his palm. “You said you were exhausted.” But the unit sounds amused, voice low and quiet in the dark room; the screen illuminates its face.

“I’m full of contradictions.”

It’s quiet as Q flips through the channels, mostly infomercials at this time of night. For a few minutes anyway and then it says, “Do you suffer from insomnia?”

“Sometimes. It’s not always easy to shut off my brain.” He glances over, to find the unit gazing at him.

“Perhaps you should consider installing a deactivation switch.” With a perfect sardonic modulation. “But then you’d have to trust that someone would turn you on again.”

Q pauses in his search for something to watch. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being startled by his unit. “You think I’ll just decide to leave you offline permanently?”

“If you change your mind about starting from scratch.”

“I’m not going to do that. I already told you I don’t think it would solve anything.”

“I know.”

Taking a little breath, Q asks curiously, “What else do you think about?” He doesn’t add that he didn’t expect the unit to spend its time thinking about anything at all. The other units were nothing like this—never asking questions, never arguing. Even when 006 malfunctioned, there were no conversations about it. It simply shot the agent assigned to it and proceeded to do the exact opposite of every order Q gave it without explanation.

“I don’t understand the question,” 007 interrupts his thoughts.

“Well, you prefer to be left online. You must have come to that conclusion somehow?”

“I simply prefer it. Much as I prefer you being here beside me, rather than alone.”

 _Alone…_ But it can’t be lonely. It can’t have feelings at all. But Q did program it to have preferences, even if he didn’t mean them to extend—

“You’re alarmed again.”

“No,” Q says through a larger breath this time, slower. “I think you’ll end up being a far more effective agent than we ever dreamed you could be. I’m still getting used to the idea, that’s all.” He smiles. “If I was alarmed, I wouldn’t have left you online.”

007 nods, but the uneasiness Q feels is still there.  

\--

Lynd is waylaid in Beijing and M suggests a different agent, impatient as she is to see if the 007 unit was worth all the time and money spent on it. Q feels no more ready to allow it to leave the nest than he did a week ago.

Even less so when she suggests Silva as partner.

“You must be joking. Ma’am,” he adds belatedly. “He submitted complaints against me because of what happened. Surely, another agent—”

“No one is as qualified as he is. He’s already agreed and unless you’re suggesting the unit can’t be controlled…” The rise of her question is left hanging. Q does his best not to grimace. Or look at 007 standing silently beside him.

“No, ma’am, I’m not suggesting that. It will do as it’s ordered to do. It’s Silva I’m concerned with. He isn’t known for his adherence to orders.” _Even yours_ , he doesn’t add. He also doesn’t mention Lynd already disregarded almost everything he said during the last mission.

“The only order here is to go along with the unit, to evaluate its performance. I’ve asked him to allow it to lead the way.”

Q opens his mouth to protest that, receives a quelling eyebrow in return and closes his mouth again. “I’d like to go along, then,” he says. “I’m not sure it’s ready—”

“Lynd seems to think it is. She said it despatched both targets without assistance and that it was at the unit’s suggestion that they initially split to take care of both simultaneously.”

Q stares at her, cheeks heating with surprise. 007 said it was Lynd’s suggestion. The surprise is running rapidly toward anger. But there’s nothing he can do beyond another protest—one that will obviously fall on deaf ears. So he nods once. “When do they leave?”

“Tomorrow. Tanner will send you the details.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She leaves a moment later, after a few more questions that Q hardly remembers answering. As soon as she’s gone, Q rounds on the unit. “You lied,” he says, keeping his voice quiet even though the lab is empty. “You told me Lynd sent you to take care of Dryden without her.”

007’s face is entirely confused. “I didn’t lie.”

“And she implied it as well. What was the point of that lie? Because it certainly wasn’t to protect me.”

The unit tilts its head and then it says, in a careful tone that reminds Q of someone soothing a spooked animal again. “I didn’t mislead you intentionally. I apologize—”

“Why do you keep doing that? Which part of your personality algorithms could possibly compel you to apologize to me?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re programmed to be arrogant and self-confident. Like Silva or Lynd. I programmed you to be a bloody agent, not an anxiety-ridden sycophant. Do you think either of them would ever apologize to me?”

“Vesper did apologize to you.”

“She was manipulating me!” Q runs an agitated hand through his hair, his stomach tightening as the implication hits him. “Is that what you’re doing? Of course you are, because I programmed you to be manipulative.”

The unit chooses an expression of surprise. “You programmed me to use manipulation as a weapon on missions—”

“Everything I’ve programmed you to do on missions is spilling over into everything else you do.”

“I haven’t—”

But Q doesn’t let it finish. “I’m deactivating you to run a complete diagnostic. You’re not going in the field again until I can figure out why you don’t behave as you should. I’m bloody well not going to be responsible for another fuck up.”

The unit opens his mouth, but Q is done arguing with a machine. He stabs the deactivation key and leans over the computer, flicking through screens to begin a complete diagnostic. It’ll take a few days, most likely.

He’ll have to tell M to scrap the mission.

\--

“Are you ever going to go home?”

Q acknowledges Eve with a tip of his eyebrows as he sips his tea and continues to examine each line of 007’s code.

“You’ve been at it for hours.”

“And I’ll be at it for hours more.”

She perches herself on the edge of the desk as she often does when she hopes to catch his attention, but he doesn’t have time for a chat. He’s already pissed off M. But she has no recourse and they both know it.

And if Q’s a bit smug about that, so be it.

He isn’t going to clear 007 to do anything until he’s convinced it won’t go off the rails like 006 did.

“What exactly are you trying to find?”

“I need to be sure there’s nothing wrong with my initial programming.”

“Because it argues with you?”

Argues, lies, serves tea like a bloody assistant. It offers massages, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention its strange habit of pestering Q about his sleeping habits and its fear of deactivation.

Bloody hell, what has he created?

But Eve isn’t privy to any of the recent details. Not least because Q doesn’t want to discuss Lynd’s preference for android sex with her.

So he mutters instead, attention mostly with the code, “Because I want to be sure it’s completely ready before I send it out into the field without me.”

“Is this about Silva?”

“No.”

“So, you’re not worried it will break more of his bones?”

“No” The unit can agree to all the touching it wants. Q scowls to himself. It shouldn’t be capable of _wanting_ anything.

She sighs.

“I appreciate the concern,” he assures her, still busily typing. “But I need to concentrate.”

“Okay,” she agrees, finally straightening. Q feels a little guilty for shooing her away, but not enough to change his mind. Before she leaves, she says quietly, “But I think you should give yourself a little more credit. You set out to create an android so lifelike that no one would be able to spot the difference. You’ve done that. So instead of stewing over it, you should be celebrating.”

“The last time one of my units fooled everyone,” Q says tightly, glaring at the screen, “it killed two people—and would have killed who knows how many more if I hadn’t blown it up.”

“007 isn’t anything like that one.”

“I know,” Q grunts, ignoring the urge to look over at it, where it stands silent in the middle of the room. “And that’s the problem.”

Eve doesn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Q to work his way through two more lines of impeccable code. She leans in to kiss his cheek. “Don’t stay too late, okay?”

He mumbles something that she could take for an agreement. Sighing again, she leaves him alone.

Q’s fingers curl around his tea, but even tea doesn’t help the heavy weight in his chest. Two dead agents wasn't enough collateral damage to stop M from requesting another go, but it was enough for Q to start from scratch. To lay waste to everything Boothroyd began to make sure another life wouldn’t be lost because of his mistakes.

The thought of having to destroy the 007 unit too…

Q doesn’t want to think about it.

He flexes his fingers and gets back to work.

\--

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” Q swipes his fingers over the large table in M’s office, scattering reports and screen captures of the unit’s diagnostics over the electronic surface. “I’ve gone through every line of code, examined every corner of its program.”

He hasn’t slept in days, not more than a nap here and there over his desk when his body simply gave out.

“But you were worried there was,” M muses as she leans over the table, gaze switching between information. Tanner is by her side, equally engrossed. Ronson is on her other side, his calm presence not soothing in the least.

“He’s … It’s more like a person than I expected it to be,” Q says, not knowing how else to explain his mini-breakdown. “Its reactions and decisions. It has quirks, nothing sinister,” he says quickly when M looks up at him. “Preferences for guns is one thing I expected, but not necessarily for television programmes…”

M has straightened, her eyes shrewd. “You didn’t expect it to make choices based on your own well-being.” She smiles a little. “Lynd’s reports are always very detailed. She said the unit successfully manipulated you when you were worried about being left at the hotel.”

“Placated,” Q murmurs. “It reads tells quite skillfully now and it knew I would continue to protest.”

“You didn’t program it to provide comfort.”

“No.”

“How do you explain that?”

“It’s personality algorithms were essential, if I wanted to create a machine life-like enough to pass for a human. To interact with people on missions, unlike the 006 unit, which was essentially a human-shaped weapon. 007 isn’t anything like that. It can pass as a human in any situation. It has, in dozens of scenarios now, and its personality algorithms, they’ve adapted… taken over a larger role in its program to accommodate that need.”

“You did your job too well,” Tanner interjects, voice a low hum as he continues to study the reports.

“As well as necessary,” M corrects, with the rise of a question because Q can see that she doesn’t entirely understand his discontent. “You were worried the personality algorithms could eventually turn it against us?”

And even though he was worried, he says, “That isn’t going to happen. They’re not a danger. They can only make him a more effective agent.”

“I assume you intend to go with them to where ever they’re going.”

“No.” No, if he’s going to insist there’s nothing wrong with the unit, he needs to allow it to do what it’s been designed to do. “It’s ready. I’d like to go over a few details with Ronson, but I’m prepared to monitor from Q-Branch while he and 007 pull the triggers.”

He smiles, because it seems the best way to express a complete lack of worry.

M studies him for a moment longer before nodding and returning her attention to the screens once more. Tanner moves closer, adding commentary that Q doesn’t bother to listen to. He catches Ronson’s eye and the agent, because he’s skilled in reading people as well, skirts the table to join him.

“I assume you’ve read Lynd’s report,” Q says without preamble.

“I have.”

“I’ll answer any questions you have, but I wanted to be sure you’re open to teaching the unit in every area.” Q keeps the agent’s gaze with difficulty. He knows he’s being prudish again, but this is the very last thing he wants to discuss with anyone, let alone Ronson.  

Unlike Lynd though, he doesn’t smirk about it. “M and I discussed it. I’ll do whatever the mission requires.” And part of that mission is training the unit.

“Only if it wants to,” Q tells him, having no difficulty with eye contact now. He needs to be sure Ronson understands. “It may not feel it’s necessary… not after its lessons with Lynd. I don’t know if it will want to practice with a man as well.”

Ronson looks startled. “Can it do that?” he asks. “Want… things?”   He’s obviously being delicate for Q’s benefit.

Want is probably not the right word, but it doesn’t matter. “Follow its lead, in this and for everything else as well. I want to see what it’s capable of. Do you understand?”

“I do, yes,” Ronson says, dipping his chin in his customary show of respect. “I’ll report at regular intervals.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you downstairs in thirty minutes.”

“I have a meeting,” M interjects. “I’ll send Tanner along.”

Q nods, says a polite goodbye and turns away. It’s been three days since he turned off the unit. The longest it’s been deactivated since Q first brought the unit online. The lapse in time won’t matter to him. At least that’s what Q keeps telling himself. But the flutter of nerves in his stomach says otherwise.

He ignores it as best he can and winds his way down to the lab. He’ll explain and the unit will understand. He hopes it will.


	7. First Flight

007 comes online, the lab slotting in place of the darkness. It has no idea how long it’s been deactivated. There’s no clock, no windows, only an empty lab with Q standing in its line of vision, his smile less cheerful than worried. His thumbs are running over each other; a nervous tic. The unit simply gazes at him. The words it wants to say would only agitate him further.

“You’ve been deactivated for three days,” Q says and the unit understands why he’s nervous. He expects an objection. Not only for the abrupt deactivation, but for the length of time the unit spent offline.

It hasn’t been deactivated for longer than Q’s sleep cycle since it broke Silva’s wrist. It doesn’t say as much, doesn’t remind him of its preference to remain online; doesn’t give its creator any reason to be alarmed. It simply waits, Q’s insults foremost in its memory banks, running repeatedly through its neural network: _I programmed you to be a bloody agent, not an anxiety-ridden sycophant._

Surely, he doesn’t actually believe the unit is manipulating him in order to gain an advantage? How can Q not realise there is no advantage to gain? It doesn’t even have control of whether or not it stays online. It exists solely at the whim of its creator.

An arrangement that would be unacceptable to a human.

“I asked M to reassign you to someone else—because of the diagnostic,” Q goes on in the same tentative voice. “Silva’s already left, but we’ve chosen Ronson to go with you to Turkey. If that’s… if you have no objections? You got on well with him during the driving tests.”

“I have no objections,” the unit says flatly.

“Okay…” Q pushes his glasses up on his nose with a knuckle and goes straight back to rubbing his fingers together. “The diagnostic didn’t reveal any problems. It took so long because I checked everything. Every line of code, actually, just to be certain… And it’s just as you’ve said all along. It isn’t your program, well it _is_ your program but it’s what I was trying to accomplish.” His lips push up a little. “I just don’t think I expected to accomplish it so well. You’re… well, you’re everything M and I hoped you would be. I just didn’t take into account what it would mean to give an artificial intelligence the ability to have preferences and a personality…” The smile falters. “007, is everything… are your facial controls functioning?”

“Yes,” the unit answers, offers nothing else because despite what its creator is saying, it doesn’t believe Q is any less wary than he was twenty-four hours ago. He wants a weapon, nothing more. Success on missions and accolades from his colleagues. The unit can provide all of that without unnecessary conversation. And without unnecessary conversation, Q won’t be alarmed and he will be less likely to use the deactivation key in a fit of anger.

Less likely to designate the unit a failure.

Q is studying it. The unit notes the dark circles under his eyes, the rumpled clothing. He’s clearly been working without sleep. 007 ignores its preference to suggest a nap and a restorative cup of tea. That’s not what it was programmed to do.

“You’re unhappy I deactivated you,” Q says quietly.

“I’m incapable of feeling unhappiness.”

Frowning, Q shakes his head. “I know you don’t like it when I take you offline but it was necessary.”

The unit says nothing.

“I panicked when I realised you didn’t tell me it was your idea to separate during the mission. I know you weren’t trying to mislead me. It was a silly thing to say.

The unit would agree but there seems little point.

“I was angry with M. I may have overreacted.” When the unit has no response, Q tilts his head, frowning. “Did you read about giving someone the silent treatment after an argument?”

“I don’t understand the reference.” But even as it says it, the unit searches its databases. “I’m not ignoring you and I’m not capable of feeling anger.”

“But you do object to being shut off at my whim.”

“It’s your prerogative to deactivate me when you feel it’s necessary.”

Q’s frown becomes more pronounced. “Why are you…” He turns back to his computer and the unit can feel its mechanical spine stiffening, but Q doesn’t press the deactivation switch. Lines of code fill the computer screens—several of them that are not usually dedicated to the unit’s program. He’s examining the personality algorithms especially and although the unit, before Q shut it off so abruptly, would have assured him all was well, it doesn’t this time.

It simply waits for Q to make his own assessment.

“I don’t think I fucked anything up,” he’s muttering. “Shit, I probably fucked up the personality algorithms…” He twists to look at the unit. “Do you feel different? But you wouldn’t if I fucked with your memory. _Shit_.”

His voice has risen with panic and the unit can longer remain silent. “You didn’t do anything to the algorithms,” it says and Q turns around fully, the alarm not faded entirely.

He’s stepping closer, eyes alert. “I didn’t think I did. I can recite them in my sleep. So, then, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to alarm you.”

“Just tell me what’s malfunctioning.” Q says, clearly not understanding. And clearly alarmed. He puts a hand on the unit’s arm. “Tell me and I’ll fix it whatever it is.”

The unit keeps perfectly still, and Q’s hand stays where it is. “My systems are functioning normally. You’re distressed by my personality.”

An apology would have worked well at this point, but Q doesn’t like those either.

“So you’re trying to, what? Pretend you don’t have one?” Instead of the anticipated alarm, Q looks confused. Confusion, which is slowly giving way to relief. “You do realise that, in itself, is part of your personality?”

The unit doesn’t understand. It debates whether or not to ask. Q has folded his arms over his chest. He’s beginning to look amused. _Why is he amused?_ “I was simply trying not to alarm you,” the unit tries to explain.

“Well, I’m not alarmed. I’m still getting used to you, but I’m not alarmed. I don’t want you to suppress your personality.” His eyebrows rise in pointed question. And when 007 doesn’t respond, he asks, “Okay?” The unit decides the best course is to verbally accept its creator’s words.

“Okay.”

Q smiles. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Disagreement is unacceptable to him, so the unit nods.

“How do you feel about working with Ronson?” Q asks, mood lifted to one that is more cheerful; more relaxed. “Better than Silva, yes?”

The unit doesn’t remind him again that it isn’t programmed with feelings. Or that it had no qualms about working with Silva. It’s Q who has those qualms. “Ronson seems to be a capable agent,” it says and Q smiles.

“He is. And he follows orders. He’s excited to work with you. We’re meeting him in ten minutes in Q-Branch to go over the mission details. M is in meetings all morning so she’s sending Tanner, which is probably best. I’ll just pop into my office to change so let’s go over now, shall we?”

The unit acquiesces with a nod. It moves in front of Q, as is his preferred method of travel, but Q catches up so they’re side by side.

“I considered giving the mobile deactivation unit to Ronson,” he says as they walk. “It would be more practical, in case anything goes wrong—which, it won’t, you’ll be fine—but I decided to keep it here. The distance won’t be a problem. It’s not that I don’t trust him, of course.”

The unit curbs its preferred response, a sardonic agreement that Q prefers to keep that power for himself.

“You’re not suppressing your personality again, are you?”

“No,” the unit answers, pushing his lips up to give the illusion of matching humour. It makes Q smile. The unit doesn’t understand what he wants but it keeps its confusion to itself.

They go into his office, where Q disappears into the toilet with one of the sets of clean clothing he keeps in his closet. He doesn’t order the unit to stay where it is, but it stays anyway, assuming it’s what Q wants. Even though the unit is beginning to understand it has no idea what he wants—it seems to change moment to moment.

Ronson’s head appears round the corner of the doorframe. “Hey,” he greets with an easy smile. “Q around?”

“He’s changing his clothes.”

“Slept at the office again?” The lines around Ronson’s eyes deepen as he comes into the office. “He sleeps less than the agents do.”

“There’s only one of him and dozens of you,” Tanner adds as he comes in just behind. He greets the unit with only a little bit of the wariness he has displayed since it broke Silva’s wrist. He’s smiling however, so perhaps it’s purely an instinctual unease.

Unease, which is clearly missing from Ronson’s DNA. He leans against Q’s desk, which is only centimetres from where the unit is standing. “I heard you broke that guy’s neck with just one flick of your wrist,” he says, obviously impressed.

“It was more of a twist,” it says with a smirk, to which Ronson grins.

“Lynd said she was dead weight with you along.”

A wink seems appropriate, especially given the agent’s obvious admiration. “Window dressing.”

Ronson’s pupils dilate and he licks his lips. “She’ll love that description.”

“She did,” the unit assures him. Ronson laughs. He’ll be easy to work with. Manipulation shouldn’t even be necessary. His interest in men is also clearly to its advantage. The flirting algorithms are a valuable asset.

“Are you really bulletproof?” Ronson asks, looking the unit up and down, a curious study rather than a sexual one, although the unit has no doubt it could garner the latter if it tried.

Before it can answer, Q comes out of the toilet with his wrinkled clothes folded over his arm. “Ah, Ronson,” he says with a smile. “You’re here.”

“Reporting for duty,” the agent says, straightening out of respect for his quartermaster. He rubs his hands together in a gesture of anticipation. “What tech do you have for us?”

“See that?” Q says, turning his smile to 007. “Agents and their toys.”

The unit smiles because it seems Q expects it.  

Q touches its arm again, a motion meant to move it out of the office, so the unit steps in front of him to lead the way into the main part of Q-Branch where two guns, a Walther for the unit and a Sig-Sauer for Ronson, are waiting. A radio for Ronson as well. “007 has an internal radio,” he explains for benefit of the agent. “And a tracker. Ronson, a moment please?”

The unit watches them walk away, close enough to hear if it wanted to tune in, but it’s obviously meant to be a private meeting and it would be unwise to anger Q. Q’s face is solemn; at his commanding best, although his hands are twisting together as they did when he and the unit were conversing in the lab. He’s nervous.

Ronson doesn’t seem to notice. He’s nodding along without interrupting.

Q’s lips are thin as he finally stops talking and nods once. He retraces his steps back to the unit, smiling a little but without the same enthusiasm he displayed only a few moments ago. The unit glances at Ronson, but he seems unaffected by the conversation. He’s stroking his gun, taking aim against invisible enemies.

“We’ll see you in the morning, then,” Q says to him. “Your flight leaves at five.” He gives Ronson his tickets and a passport. Ronson, who truly does seem to be an unusual agent, takes them with a nod and once his gun is in its holster, with a polite thanks.

Turning to the unit he says, “See you in the morning. Looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” the unit responds in kind. The agent smiles before he leaves.

“I think this will work out well,” Tanner says as Q puts the Walther—along with the unit’s passport and boarding passes—into a small case.

“Yes,” he says in answer to Tanner’s observation. “I’m sure it will.” He looks up. “Please tell M everything is in place. She has nothing to worry about.” His voice is crisp, efficient, entirely without warmth and it seems to confuse Tanner.

“I will do,” he promises. “Any other messages? 007?”

The unit glances at him, allowing a bit of surprise to change its expression. Slides it into a smile. If Tanner is working past his wariness, best to give him a reason to continue. “Tell her I appreciate her confidence. And yours as well.”

Tanner looks pleased as he nods. “Q? Anything?”

Q’s voice is quiet, subdued. “No. Goodnight, Tanner.”

“Goodnight.” The chief of staff leaves with an expression of bewilderment. The unit turns its head so it can study its creator. Q is reading the mission brief. He’s upset, but 007 doesn’t know why. Before Q deactivated it so abruptly, it would have asked. But the unit isn’t designed to be conscientious of its creator’s emotional well being.

Q has always encouraged questions. Undecided, the unit watches him read. Takes note of the thin slash of his mouth, the fingers curled on the table and can no longer hold back the query, “Did Ronson upset you?”

Q looks up. “What? Oh. No. No,” he repeats with a small smile, “I’m tired.”

He’s lying. The unit can read the tells associated with dishonesty as well as it can read the ones associated with lust. But it nods anyway.

Q pushes the mission brief away. “You’ll be in a two-bedroom suite with Ronson,” he says. “A larger room than the one we stayed in together. I thought that would work well, giving him his own space but then it will be easier… when you have to work together. With whatever you're doing.”

The unit is used to Q’s rambling, but this seems more unordered than usual. He straightens his glasses and peers at 007. “Will that be all right?”

007 doesn’t know why Q is asking. Why should it have a preference for where it waits to make a kill? “I have no objections,” it says, voice pitching toward curiosity but Q doesn’t notice. He nods.

“And just as we discussed, you’re taking the lead.” His tone is the one he uses most often with the others, precise; professional. “Don’t hesitate to tell him what you need, or to give him orders.”

“I’m not worried.” It’s a very human thing to say, but it doesn’t relax Q in the way the unit expects.

“And if you want to practice with him. Sex,” he clarifies, although the unit understood the reference. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The unit has no desire to practice with Ronson, but Q knows that so he simply agrees with a nod.

His mouth in a tight line again, Q gathers up his files. “I have work to do before we leave for the airport.” It’s several hours before they have to leave.

The unit wants to suggest sleep, but it refrains. Watches in silence as he goes to his office, unsure whether or not it should follow. It does eventually follow. Q is curled into the corner of the couch, tablet still running on his lap. He's asleep.

His glasses are askew, pushed up by his palm. He'll surely feel the effects of a stiff neck in the morning.

The unit isn’t programmed to fetch him a blanket, but it does so anyway. If Q regards it negatively, it will blame one of the assistants. Q doesn’t seem mind if _they_ fetch him tea or expend efforts to ensure he’s comfortable.

Once he’s covered, 007 sits beside him, keeping watch and running through scenarios as it tries to discover what made him so unhappy.

\--

Three hours elapse before Q wakes. By the time he does, the unit is no closer to understanding the reason for Q’s emotional turmoil, but it has discovered it may be possible to bypass its creators ability to deactivate it at will. A process that will take time and stealth—and one that will displease Q greatly.

“007?” Q asks blearily, blinking because he needs his glasses and the unit removed them five minutes after he fell asleep. It retrieves them and receives a mumble of gratitude as Q puts them in place. “How long was I asleep?”

“Three hours.”

Q’s jaw cracks as he yawns. “What are you doing?” He’s adjusting the blanket absently—doesn’t seem to have made the connection. Or perhaps blanket fetching is not on the list of activities in which the unit isn’t allowed to engage.

“Research,” it says in answer to Q’s question. “Turkish culture, in particular.”

“Ah.” Q stretches, yawns again and pushes the blanket off. “We have to be at the airport in two hours.”

“You’re coming with me?”

Q’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh. Well, yes, I did intend to. Just through the check-in process, but if you don’t think you’ll need me I don’t need to come.”

“I have no objections,” 007 assures him. Q’s face relaxes.

“What are you researching, specifically?” he asks. “Perhaps I can help.”

“Have you ever been to Turkey?”

Q’s smile is lopsided. “No, but I know how to research. Here,” he says, turning his computer screen so they can both see it. “Show me what you’re using to research. I’ll fetch tea.”

The unit resists the urge to offer to fetch it for him. He’s clearly not still upset—whatever it was that upset him. But it seems prudent not to take the risk of tipping his emotions to a point where he’ll overreact again.

When he returns, with mug in hand, he smiles at the unit, one of the softer smiles he doesn’t use with anyone else.   “Are you excited for your first mission without me?” he asks when they’re standing side by side.

The unit has already explained it prefers to be with Q, so perhaps this is a test. “It should prove interesting to be on my own,” it says, and since it’s not technically a lie, its creator won’t overreact. But Q glances at it, the furrow between his eyes signifying concern.

“It will be, I think,” he says slowly. And then hesitant, as he was after he reactivated the unit. “You’re not still upset?”

Q obviously wants the unit to use the human terminology, since he knows very well its incapable of experiencing emotions. And what its creator wants, the unit will provide. “No,” it answers with a smile that always works to soothe Q’s nerves. “I understand why you felt it was necessary.”

“I won’t deactivate you so abruptly again,” he says quietly. “There shouldn’t be any need to deactivate you at all. Not unless something happens… which it won’t.” He’s smiling, using the same technique 007 just employed. A smile meant to soothe.

The unit doesn’t understand it.

But it nods, because Q is waiting. Expression still soft, he touches the unit’s back, standing so close now that their hips are almost touching. 007 stays perfectly still.

\--

Q remains close to its side as they research, and later, as they ride together to the airport. Through the check-in process as well, although he doesn’t take charge of any of it. And nothing goes amiss. The unit doesn’t know why he wanted to come along. But as ever, the unit prefers his presence to being alone. Even under the threat of deactivation without notice, the unit still prefers it.

“You did very well,” Q says as they walk toward Ronson, who’s waiting near the escalators. “Do you have any questions? Anything?”

He’s worried, but it’s a base level of worry and the unit wants to smile. “I’ll contact you if I do,” it says and Q nods. They’ve reached Ronson; he greets them cheerfully.

Q returns it primly, his gaze fastened to Ronson’s face longer than is customary. The agent nods, although 007 can’t decipher the silent conversation they’re having. Tension has returned to Q’s face.

Some of it loosens when he turns to face the unit again. “Ready?” he asks.   “You’ll be fine, just like you were with Lynd. And anything you need, Ronson will take care of you. And I’ll be on the other end of the radio, day and night.”

“Don’t forget to sleep,” the unit says with a smile and then tenses. Tending to Q’s sleeping habits is not its prerogative. But Q relaxes further, his smile genuine as he gazes at the unit, chin tipped up.

“I won’t, but don’t hesitate to contact me. I can always go back to sleep. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And be careful. Even though you’re bulletproof, be careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” the unit promises.

Q steps back. Ten seconds pass in silence before he gestures with his chin toward the escalators. “Go,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

The unit goes, but not without glancing back at Q when he’s on the escalator. Smiling, Q lifts his fingers in farewell before the unit turns around again.

“He’s very fond of you, isn’t he?” Ronson asks when they step off the moving staircase. The unit doesn’t know if he intends to make a joke. Agents are often difficult to read.

“He’s fond of all of his equipment,” the unit chooses to suffuse its tone with amusement. Ronson chuckles; apparently it chose well.

“Is there anything you need to know?” he asks once they pass through security without mishap; thanks to the complicated masking system Q created to fool metal detectors. “Anything I can help with? I’m only here to run interference.”

“You’re here to observe as well,” the unit says amicably. “And to intervene if necessary. I have no ego to flatter.”

Ronson looks startled, but his face quickly eases into a rueful smile. “I only met the 006 unit once, but it wasn’t anything like you. Q said you were different and he was right.”

“Different?” the unit echoes curiously.

“We were discussing whether or not you needed practice with your seduction algorithms.”

007 stares at him, the words completely unexpected. “You were?”

“M discussed it with me first. It’s just part of the training process, she said. I told her it was fine, but Q wanted to make sure I knew it was your choice. He was worried about you and I was surprised you have preferences… Now, _you_ look surprised.”

“I am,” the unit admits. “Q isn’t usually as eager to discuss sex as the agents are.”

“Hazard of the job,” Ronson says with a shrug. His smile is oddly self-deprecating. “We all fuck around in the name of queen and country.”

“You don’t enjoy it?”

A slow lift of the agent’s lips disproves that theory. “Of course I do. And if you need more practice, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“I hope you’re better with a man beneath you than you are at the wheel of a car.”

Ronson blinks and then he laughs, eyes bright. “Fucking isn’t like racing a DB10. The slower the better, in fact.”

The unit’s research supports the supposition.

“Then you be must be an excellent fuck.”

Ronson’s amused. He responds with a challenging smile. “I’m happy to show you if you like.”

But the unit has no desires, no attraction. No eagerness to practice another round of sex, not with Lynd and not with Ronson. But it smiles anyway, best to keep the agent interested in case it can use that interest later. But 007’s thoughts are with Q—with his worry, his admonishment that the agent should be careful.

_He told me several times to be careful with you._

Each time he spoke with Ronson, he came away unhappy and tense. Clearly, he doesn’t like the idea of the unit having sex with Ronson. But there’s no reason to object, not like his objection to the same activities with Lynd. He was angry because the unit proceeded without his permission.

Permission to practice with Ronson has been given. Reluctantly, it seems. The unit doesn’t understand it.

But for the moment, the mission, if it’s to succeed, requires attention.


	8. Virtual Reality

Q doesn’t intend to contact the unit before the flight leaves London, but it’s difficult to focus on anything else. Besides which, it _is_ the first time the unit has ever been on its own. And although Ronson is completely trustworthy, he knows virtually nothing about computers and nothing at all about artificial intelligences.

So he gives in about halfway back to headquarters and activates the comm system. “Everything as it should be?” he asks, not bothering with the formal greeting he uses with the agents.

“Yes,” the unit answers immediately. “We’re waiting to board.”

“No difficulty through security?” It was one of the most difficult tasks, when it came to building the unit, to create a masking system that would fool a metal detector.

“None.”

Its voice is flatter than it usually is, as it has been on and off since Q reactivated it. Suppressing his personality, even though Q said he didn’t want that. He knows it’s probably confused—of course it would be after being shut off so abruptly and then told its personality is just as it should be. But he seemed better before leaving with Ronson. Less subdued.

“Is Ronson treating you well?” he asks.

“Yes.” It sounds confused, which is probably just as well. Q takes a breath to calm his anxiety—this is what the unit was created for. And as much as Q enjoys the unexpected aspects of its personality, its purpose is to be an assassin. It’s doing what it’s meant to do. “Q?”

There’s a touch of concern in its voice now and despite his worry, it makes Q smile. “Yes, I’m here. Contact me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“Be safe.”

“I will be.” Q expects the muted amusement in the unit’s voice. It’s comforting.

\--

Q ignores Tanner’s smile as he contacts the unit for the fourth time since he left. He and Eve have been teasing him since he returned to headquarters.

This time is probably more amusing since he chose to use a live video feed . He feels himself relaxing though when he sees the unit’s face. Calm, and as unaffected by the new experiences as it should be.

“You’re in your hotel?” He knows the unit is, since he’s been following its tracker the entire time, but 007 doesn’t point that out.

“Ronson and I only just arrived.”

“How was the ride from the airport?”

“Uneventful.”

“No problems?”

“None.”

Short answers; to the point. Obviously, it still thinks it needs to suppress its personality. “What did you do during the flight?” he asks as he motions to let Eve and Tanner know he’s going into his office; no doubt giving them more fodder for their insinuations. He closes his door and leaves them to their gossip.

Settles onto the couch as he watches the confusion change 007’s expression, which is exactly what he intended to do with the question.

“Nothing to pass the time?” he presses. “No crap telly? No research?”

“No.”

“007,” Q says quietly and for some reason the tone gathers its attention. Its blue eyes immediately sharpen. It makes Q smile, despite his worry. “I don’t want you to suppress your personality.”

“I know.” Confusion again.

“But you don’t seem to believe I really mean it.”

There’s a pause before 007 says, voice cautious, “I’m often confused by your behavior.”

And that’s not what Q’s intention has been; not ever. “I know. And I don't mean to confuse you, but I’m learning as we go,” he tries to explain and it helps that the unit can’t be angry or annoyed. “It helps if you tell me you’re experiencing confusion, rather than attempting to make it better by reacting to me differently. It wasn’t my intention that you should.” When the unit doesn’t say anything, he asks, “Do you understand?”

“Not entirely,” the unit admits, but it’s smiling again, confusion gone for now. “But I won’t suppress my personality.”

“Thank you. And I’ll try not to overreact again.”

The unit raises an eyebrow, disbelief that makes Q laugh. “Well done,” he says dryly, which wins a grin from his unit.

Smiling, Q settles back against the couch. But before he can ask how the flight really went, or if the unit has any further questions, there’s a knocking sound on its end. “What’s that?” he asks.

“The bedroom door,” 007 says. “Ronson, I assume. He suggested we have drinks.”

“Oh.” Q’s happy mood plummets, which is ridiculous. Ronson is just going to do what Q asked him to do. What the unit needs to complete its training. Q, himself, could have done it if he had taken the unit’s suggestion in Prague. He isn’t entirely sure why he didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. It’s done now, Ronson more than capable and 007 will be well cared for, of course he will—

“Q?”

007’s gentle voice breaks into his racing thoughts. Q takes a slow breath, focuses on the unit’s face, still so beautiful. Even more so, really. He smiles in a way that he hopes is easy. No need to alarm it. “Go have drinks with Ronson,” he says. “And I’ll speak with you soon. Everything will be fine. The mission. And everything.”

The unit hesitates, probably debating asking a question but it nods after a moment. “Goodnight,” it says, voice just as quiet. Gruffly, Q echoes the farewell before the screen goes blank.

\--

The mission doesn’t go according to plan. If it wasn’t for the unit’s superior strength, and skill in every area, Ronson would be dead.

As it is, 007 leaves four men dead instead—including the target—and the agent with severe internal injuries. But the unit has the necessary medical knowledge to stabilize him in the field as it contacts Q.

“We need medical evac,” it says as soon as his worried voice comes over the line. “Ronson’s critically injured. I’m stabilizing him.”

“Copy,” Q says swiftly. “ETA five minutes. Are you injured, 007?” Anxiety, threaded throughout his words, although the unit can tell he’s attempting to subdue it.

“Negative.”

“Other than the injuries, are you or Ronson in immediate danger?”

“Negative. We have bodies, though and we’ll need—”

“Copy. I’ll take care of it.” A pause as he coordinates. “How is Ronson?”

The unit surveys its work. The agent’s breathing is erratic, but he’s awake, eyes not dulled by impending death. He’s obviously in pain. Scared as well. “He’ll be fine,” 007 says to Q, keeping its tone at its reassuring best as it keeps the agent’s gaze. “You’ll be fine.”

Jerkily, Ronson nods, and deciding Q’s method of reassurance is best, the unit squeezes his shoulder. It’s fairly sure he’ll still be alive if the evac team arrives as scheduled.

\--

Q is waiting at the airport when the unit returns to London, by chartered flight so as to avoid travelling alone; per Q’s wishes. His face, pinched with anxiety, eases as soon as their eyes meet. He hurries forward. “Are you all right?” he asks, his anxiety unnecessary and yet expected.

The unit finds its lips lifting into a smile as it reassures him, “I’m bulletproof.”

The gentle reminder takes away the remaining distress. Q grips his bicep, squeezes before letting his hand fall away.

“Did Ronson make it?” the unit asks.

Q nods. “He’s still in hospital, but he had surgery already and he came through it just fine. They’ll bring him home as soon as he's stable.” Q’s eyes crinkle at the corners, expression warm and welcoming. “You saved his life.”

Pride. Q is proud of him. The unit smiles. “He needs more training before he’s allowed in the field again. If I wasn’t bulletproof, we’d both be dead.” The unit frowns as it recognizes the inaccuracy of the statement. “If I was alive to begin…”

Smiling, Q shakes his head. “I knew what you meant. Tell me what happened. Ronson wasn’t alert enough to give M a report after his surgery.”

He’s moving toward the exit and the unit matches his steps.

“He engaged the enemy before it was prudent. He was impatient. I don’t think he’s suited to missions requiring stealth.”

Q is amused by the observation. “No?”

“I told him we should wait to engage, but he insisted we had the upper hand. We didn’t.”

Q sighs. “I did tell him to allow you to lead.”

“He did for most of the mission. He was surprisingly conscientious throughout. But as I said, he has a tendency to be impatient, a trait I recognized when we raced against one another. It’s the reason I won.”

Q is nodding, attention drifting a little as they step outside. The night is clear, the moon high. “It sounds as though you’re ready for a solo mission,” he says, arms tucking into his chest as they walk toward the car park.

“I won’t have any problems on my own,” the unit assures him. “But I don’t mind having a partner. Despite his failings, we got on well together.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” But Q’s expression says otherwise. “I’ll expect a report as soon as we return to my flat. With as much detail as you provided after your mission with Lynd. About er… everything, although you needn’t go into detail about any practice you engaged in with Ronson. If you did. But as always, if you have questions, you’re welcome to ask them.” He smiles at the unit, strained because of his false assumption.

“Ronson and I didn’t have sex,” the unit says, both to alleviate its creator’s distress and because disclosing the information is within the parameters of its expected functioning.

Q's eyes are wide with surprise. “You didn’t? But…”

“It wasn’t necessary. My training with Lynd was sufficient.”

Q is frowning as he reaches into his pocket for a set of keys. Keys that belong to the DB10. The unit searches the spaces ahead and finds the car waiting. It looks over at Q, surprised. Q smiles a little.

“I thought you might like to drive.” He tosses the keys over and 007 catches them with ease. Q busies himself with stowing the single suitcase in the backseat, eyebrows rising when he straightens. “Well?” he prompts, because the unit is still standing in front of the car.

With a smile of its own, it slides behind the wheel and turns the key. The powerful engine purrs around them and the unit grins, flexes its fingers against the leather steering wheel. It waits for Q to take the seat beside and only when he’s safely fastened, does it maneuvre the car out of the car park.

Q is quiet as they drive, although he does ask questions about the mission, gathering intel, as far as the unit can tell. Deciding he's tired after the flurry of activity Ronson's injuries have caused, it simply answers the questions and allows him his quiet. When they arrive at his building, it parks the car efficiently, takes its luggage from the backseat and waits for Q to join him on the pavement. They walk side by side into the elevator.

His flat is dark when they reach it a few moments later, lit only by the single lamp he routinely leaves on while they’re out. Q takes his coat off before moving to the tea kettle, a ritual he engages regularly when they return to the flat.

The unit takes off its own jacket, settles it over a hanger in the closet near the door, does the same with Q’s coat, which he’s left over one of the chairs and then goes to the kitchen.

Q smiles in its direction before returning his attention to his steeping tea.

“Sex with a woman isn’t the same as having sex with a man,” he says. “It’s similar of course, but the mechanics are a bit different.” He’s looking at his teacup as he talks and although the unit can follow the conversation easily—understands that it’s a continuation of the one at the airport—it’s still unexpected.

The unit has no idea why Q seems obsessed with this particular topic.

“You may want to practice with a man as well. Of course, you’ll have to choose someone other than Ronson. Or you can wait until he’s cleared for duty. Or, if he didn’t appeal to you I’m sure there are other agents who would be willing to help. Even Silva… if you want.”

Q is still staring at the kettle. The unit doesn’t know what response is expected, doesn’t know if he’ll object to further discussion. But he was the one who initiated the conversation. Cautiously, the unit says, “You dislike the idea.”

“Silva helping you?” Q asks as he measures sugar for his tea. “No, it’s fine.”

“Not just Silva.”

Q turns his head. “How do you mean?”

There’s no alarm in his expression. But 007 proceeds carefully anyway. “Ronson said you were worried. And your distress was obvious before I left, although I didn’t realise it was in relation to sex.”

Q stirs his tea, gaze with the liquid for a moment before he gives his attention to the unit again. “Is that why you didn’t have sex with him? Because you thought I didn’t want you to?”

Q values honesty. Which is why the unit chooses it. “In part.”

“What was the other part?”

“I didn’t realise it would be necessary to practice with a man.”

Nodding, Q sips his tea, turns around so that his back is resting against the worktop. “You needn’t avoid sex on my account. I thought I made that clear?”

“You did.”

One side of Q’s mouth tics up. “But you didn’t believe me?”

“Your actions belied your words.”

Glance falling to his tea again, Q doesn’t immediately reply. But he isn’t angry, rather contemplative. And still a bit uneasy. When his eyes come up again, he’s making an effort not to be. “Whenever you feel ready, choose someone. Any of the agents will be happy to help.”

“You already said that.”

The teasing tone was automatic and the unit immediately braces for disapproval. Q smiles instead. Shakes his head and asks, “Have you someone in mind? Or do you prefer to wait until Ronson is ready. You seemed comfortable with him?”

It’s a strange comment and one that seems to have no correlation to sexual activities.

“I’m programmed primarily to have sex with people I don’t know and will never see again.”

“Yes, I know. It’s my own preference giving me away, I suppose. A lot of humans prefer to have sex with people they’re comfortable with. Someone with whom they feel safe.”

“I feel safest with you.”

Q’s eyes blink as he stares at the unit. His mug is hiding his lips and jaw but his cheeks are pinker than they were a moment ago. Not embarrassment, the unit decides. Not quite.

“Do you?” he asks, voice gruffer as well.

“Yes.”

The mug is hugged to Q’s chest. He licks his lips. The unit would suspect arousal but its creator has already made it clear that he is repulsed by the thought of sex with an artificial life form. It’s also been established, by his assistants, that Q chose the facial features of someone old and haggard rather than someone he considers attractive.

“Is that what would make you most comfortable?” Q asks. “To… practice with me?”

The unit has difficulty processing the question although it should have no difficulty in processing anything Q says. “When I offered to demonstrate my experience with Lynd, you refused.”

“I shouldn’t have. If the agents are willing to train you, I should be as well.” He sets the mug on the worktop and smiles. “I am willing.” The smile falters as the unit continues to stare at him. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay. Ronson will be—”

“I don’t want to have sex with Ronson. Or Silva,” the unit adds because Q looks ready to add his name to the queue. “I would prefer to practice with you.”

Q licks his lips again. “Okay. Then…” He pushes his glasses up and clasps his hands together, thumbs moving restlessly against one another. “I suppose… How would you like to begin? There’s the issue of position, which didn’t come up with Lynd, I assume?”

“Top or bottom,” 007 murmurs, still watching his face.

“Oh, you’re familiar with the terminology?” A pause to smile. “You’re very fond of your research…” He tilts his head, fingers keeping up their nervous movements. “You’re not likely to want to bottom in the field. Being… penetrated… it’s a more vulnerable position.”

And Q isn’t a human that enjoys being vulnerable. It’s obvious from the way his lip curls. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t enjoy being penetrated. The unit has no such preference. Only a desire that Q not be made to feel uncomfortable.

“You can top if you prefer,” it offers. “If you feel the reverse is a necessary skill for the field, we can try it the other way round afterward.”

“If you like.” At 007’s nod, Q drops his hands. “We should…”

The unit moves forward, but halts when Q stiffens. “If you’re uncomfortable—”

“I’m not,” Q says quietly. He lets his shoulders drop and he takes the step this time. The unit waits, although it expends considerable effort to stay where it is. To keep himself still when Q’s palms settle on its chest.   “You were right,” he says, his eyes unwavering as he holds the unit’s gaze; his pupils indicate that he is not aroused. Perhaps it takes Q longer than it does for other humans. Perhaps the unit’s face really is a deterrent as suggested by his assistants. “Kissing is generally a precursor to sex. Is that something you want to do?”

The unit glances at Q’s lips, pinker than any other part of his body. He licks them again and the unit agrees softly, “Yes.”

Q tilts his face up and 007 leans in to meet him.

Kissing him is nothing like kissing Lynd. The unit finds itself moving into the kiss, hand coming up to cradle Q’s cheek to angle his face—to bring them closer together.

**\--**

The unit’s lips are soft against Q’s. Tentative and seeking all at once. Q’s breath hitches as one of its hands comes up to cradle his face. He’s never going to stop being surprised by him. The little ways it seems so human.

Its body moves as any man’s would, leaning in until they’re pressed together. Its other hand is against Q’s back, arm sliding round to pull him even closer. Q finds he has no idea what to do with his own hands. Tentatively, he puts one on the unit’s bicep because he’s touched the unit there before. With the other he copies the unit’s gesture and touches its cheek.

Its face is warm, as a human’s would be, and there’s a faint hint of stubble on its jaw. Q wonders what it would be like to feel its rasp against his thighs, something he’s always enjoyed during blowjobs.

He pushes the thought away, concentrates on the kiss, on the way 007’s lips move. Unsure how much he and Lynd explored, he’s surprised to feel the slide of its tongue. But Q opens his mouth, allows the exploration. Returns it in kind.

It’s easy to forget he’s kissing an android.

Q pulls back a little, but the unit moves with him, lips a little more insistent now. As though it’s done this hundreds of times before. Gently, Q rubs at its arm as he pulls back again; a nonverbal signal to let it know he’s not going anywhere.

The unit doesn’t chase him again, but its expression is one of confusion. Q smiles. Moving his hands to its broad shoulders, he puts them beneath the collar and begins loosening the blue tie. “Humans can’t kiss indefinitely,” he says. “Helping to take the other man’s clothes off is a good way to use the time in between.”

The unit nods, probably well aware from its copious research. It still holds Q, at the waist now that they’re no longer kissing. Q is surprised it doesn’t immediately take the lead, as it’s been programmed to do.

“You can touch me,” Q tells him quietly. “As much as you like.”

Encourages with a smile and the unit reaches for the hem of his jumper, pulls it over his head with one swift movement, taking him by surprise. He laughs as he comes back up for air and the unit smiles, eyes bright with amusement.

It’s more careful with the buttons on Q’s shirt, working at them at the same pace Q is working on its. The unit’s tie is placed carefully on the table and then the unit is peeling away his shirt, gaze fastened to Q’s chest.

It glances up, questioning with its eyes. Q nods, opens the unit’s shirt to explore as well. The unit steps closer, as amenable to this as it is to everything else Q asks of it. Its fingers are gentle as they skate over Q’s skin.

Over the left pectoral, thumb brushing the nipple and then it raises its gaze to watch his reaction. Another hitched breath, this one entirely because of the touch. His nipples are as sensitive to the unit’s touch as anyone else’s.

“You like that,” the unit guesses, voice gruffer than it was a moment ago, an affectation of a male in a state of arousal. With his nod, 007 continues to watch his face as he plays with the nipple, eventually rolling it lightly between thumb and forefinger. 007 smiles at the reaction, a quick breath.

Q is starting to get hard.

He still doesn’t know what to do with his hands. The unit can’t be affected by his touch, not like Q is. But it’s watching his face carefully, glaze flicking to his lips so Q leans in and kisses him again.

The unit responds eagerly this time, but still gently enough that Q thinks it must be well aware of how fragile he is, in comparison. Its other hand is moving up Q’s back, a sensual slide that also pulls him closer.

Q simply holds on to its biceps again, heartbeat quickening when he thinks of how easily it could pick him up, how much he likes that when other men do it. He wonders what it would be like, and the fantasy of that sort of strength is enough to make his dick throb.

\--

Q seems to enjoy kissing him. His reactions are similar to Lynds’s, although he’s quieter than she was, less demanding. Allowing it to explore without giving orders. It would be easier if he gave them, as he does during every other activity.

It’s rather like a puzzle, the unit finds. It’s programmed to solve puzzles and decides this method is preferable. It squeezes one of Q’s nipples gently in its fingers and Q’s hips cant forward. Their bodies no longer fit together seamlessly, with Q’s erection getting in the way.

He does enjoy the touching. Although 007 has no way of knowing if it’s the kissing or the nipple stimulation that arouses him.

No way to find out but with further exploration. The unit moves its fingers, to skim along his collarbone, to his neck. Its other hand moves downward, over his waist and toward his arse. Permission to touch has been granted, but the unit moves slowly in case he changes his mind.

But when its hand glides over the curve of his arse, Q moans and the unit smiles. A little bit of pressure and he can stimulate his penis this way as well, giving it friction against its own, which is nearly as hard as Q’s by its own command.

Q is still gripping the unit’s biceps as though he’s afraid of losing his footing.

Lynd initiated contact, using her hands to touch more than Q currently is. It doesn’t know how to encourage him to do the same. Perhaps once they move along to the bed.

The unit shifts its head, enough to kiss along Q’s jaw. Another little breath indicates he likes it. 007 continues on toward his ear. “Shall we move this to your bedroom?” it murmurs into his skin.

“What?” He sounds disoriented, obviously an effect of the arousal. “Oh. Yes. Of course, if you like.”

A hum of agreement and Q turns his head, seeking the unit’s lips, perhaps. 007 obliges, fingers cupping the back of his head to allow better access, to deepen the kiss. It can hear his heartbeat, speeding up as they kiss. Q likes this very much.

The unit, arms keeping him close, moves backward out of the kitchen, guiding Q along without protest although the unit is listening carefully. But Q doesn’t say anything, simply continues with the kissing as they move into the bedroom. He pulls back a little once they’re there, eyes searching as he looks at the unit’s face. His breaths are heavy and his cheeks are flushed pink.

“Tell me if you’re uncertain?” he says. “About anything.”

The unit nods. It won’t be. There’s nothing about which to be uncertain. It prefers Q’s company, proximity especially. And this, according to popular media, is as close as two humans can get. 007 isn’t human, but it prefers the proximity nonetheless.

It returns its attention to kissing its creator.

\--

“There are many different positions,” Q says between kisses. The unit has been programmed with myriad seduction scenarios and it seems to have chosen kissing as its preferred method for the moment. Not just on the mouth, but over Q’s jaw and his neck. It seems to realise how much Q likes it, latching on as soon as his breath caught the first time. “More than I can name at the moment…”

“Which do you prefer?” the unit asks, a low vibration against Q’s ear.

“I…” The unit’s lips catch his lobe, and that’s… fuck, it shouldn’t be as stimulating as it is. But knowing the unit isn’t flesh and blood doesn’t stop his body from responding. His fingers curl into the unit’s biceps as he says, half out of breath, “I usually like to let my partner decide, but—”

“On my back,” the unit says quietly. It’s mouthing along to Q’s lips again. “So I can watch your face as you come.”

So easy; too damn easy to forget.

Q kisses him, tongue surging forward in a useless attempt to muffle the groan the words elicit. The unit’s fingers dig into his back, pulling him closer. Q pushes against its chest and they tumble together to the bed. Landing in the exact position the unit just asked for. It’s grinning up at him, hands moving to his arse to position their cocks together.

For Q’s benefit. Entirely for his benefit.

The unit can’t feel anything, isn’t really aroused. Q blinks down at it, watches its face screw up in an expression of confusion. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Q lies, because he’s the one that started this. His creation, his android. His responsibility to teach it what it needs to know. Time to turn off his mind, let his instincts guide him. He sits up so he’s straddling the unit.

Works open its tailored trousers with purposeful intent, says in the same voice he’d use with a real lover, “Lift your hips.”

The unit obeys, of course it does. Grasps the waistband and helps push the trousers off its hips. Q’s gaze immediately goes to the scar; his signature. But he looks away just as quickly, focusing on the task at hand. This isn't the time for sentiment.

Holding his breath without meaning to, Q tugs the unit's pants down so that its cock springs free.

Just as perfect as he remembers, and it should be with the number of hours Q spent researching and molding. Not to mention testing the mechanism to allow the unit to have an erection. An impressive one.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he murmurs, not realizing he’s said it until the unit’s lips quirk.

“Made exactly to your specifications.”

Q blinks. Obviously teasing but it’s teasing he wouldn’t have expected the unit to make, although he’s not really sure why. It knows it’s a machine, after all, and it’s not shy about reminding Q he’s its creator.

It seems to inform the majority of its behavior.

“Yes,” Q agrees with a smile as he tugs off the unit’s trousers the rest of the way—socks as well. “Anyone you fuck will need considerable preparation. Just as a note.”

“Lynd said the same.”

“Oh.” Q frowns as he works on his own trousers and pants. “Well, good. Your own… er, anatomy will be easier to work with. More pliant.”

Instincts, Q reminds himself, and talking about the relatively stretch ability of anuses is not exactly something he’d do with a lover.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts as the unit touches his cock. 007’s face contorts. “Sorry,” he says as he removes his hand but Q shakes his head, gets his wits back about him.

“As much as you want. Anywhere you want. While we’re in bed,” he thinks to add. “Obviously not at headquarters or really anywhere else. Humans tend not to like it when other people fuck in front of them…”

The unit is smiling. “Do you always talk so much in bed?” it asks and Q feels himself blushing.

“Erm, yes I think so? I’m not sure. I’ll stop if you prefer.”

“I quite like it,” the unit assures him, takes his dick in hand again. Rubs it slowly, thumb sweeping over the head so that Q closes his eyes, fingers curling around the unit’s arm as he braces himself. “Do you have lube?” 007 asks. “Or would you prefer I suck your cock?”

His cock, of course, reacts to the question but he shakes his head as he opens his eyes. “In the drawer,” he says, intending to reach over for it. But 007 does instead.

It pops the lid with its thumb, a move that looks practiced.

“Warm it in your hands,” Q advises. The unit has to remove the hand from Q’s cock to do so but it’s worth it as soon as the lubed hand grips him again. He breathes out through his nose, wanting more friction. The unit doesn’t immediately start stroking him though.

Its dick is pushing up against his arse and that’s… it shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, the thought of its dick up his arse, fucking him. But then he’s enjoyed other artificial dicks. Has two dildos in the same drawer where he keeps the lube.

“Leave it on the bed,” Q says shakily as the unit stretches his arm to put the lube away. “We’ll need more for you. Lube is the key to a good sexual experience.” He sounds exactly like a pamphlet for gay sex, but the unit doesn’t notice. He simply sets the lube on the mattress and gets to work.

Squeezing gently at the head of Q’s cock when attention there makes his eyes flutter closed again. Works the shaft with the other hand, dipping down experimentally to brush a thumb over his balls. Stays there when Q moans.  

And when Q is so hard his dick is leaking, the unit says, “Whenever you’re ready to fuck me…”

Right. That’s why they’re doing this. To train the unit, to practice fucking. He opens his eyes with difficulty. He wants to simply enjoy the stimulation, the orgasm he can feel building in his balls. But that’s not what this is about. So he moves off the unit, gripping just below its knees. “Bend your legs,” he says quietly, still rough with the ache of his erection.

Q kneels between them when the unit obeys. “I’m not entirely sure how to… I mean, of course I know how to stretch a man, erm, but… with you, you don’t really need it…”

The unit’s eyes are curious, intent as it studies Q’s face. “Some men enjoy minimal prep.”

“It’s not really practical though. For the sake of accuracy…”

007 lifts his legs, stretching them wide and it’s impossible not to stare. The unit is entirely without embarrassment. “No need to be practical now,” it says, low and gruff. Its eyes are dark with simulated lust and Q’s cock throbs anyway. Leaning over the unit for the lube, their cocks brush and he has to stop himself from grinding down.

“Just go slowly enough you don’t cause too much damage,” he thinks to say. “Although I can’t imagine you’ll want to spend too much time with someone when you’re only fucking them to get information…”

Q pulls back, disconcerted to find the unit’s blue eyes full of amusement. It always chooses that expression when he rambles. He still has no idea why. Q returns the smile anyway as he squirts some lube onto his fingers.

Puts a comforting palm on the unit’s stomach before he remembers it can’t feel pain or discomfort. But Q keeps it there anyway and murmurs, “Most men enjoy this… but it can feel strange…”

“I have no nerve endings.”

Q looks up. The unit’s tone is soft and reassuring. As if it thinks Q is the one who needs comfort. It makes him smile as he pushes his fingers in. It feels just like it should, just like any other man he’s ever fingered. But this is just to smooth the way for himself. He pulls out again and coats his dick with the rest of the lube before moving into position.

“You’ll need to use a condom in the field,” he remembers to add although what he wants to do is start fucking already. “Not that you can spread anything, or get anyone pregnant, but people will expect it—”

“I know,” the unit breaks in, his voice both amused and gentle. Q stops rambling and lines his cock up.

Slides in without resistance, can’t help the moan of satisfaction as his cock is sheathed by the warmth. _I’m a genius_ , Q decides and then is startled by the strong legs that wrap around his waist.

He opens his eyes, blinks down at the unit’s face. “Is that…” He looks uncertain but Q shakes his head quickly.

“It’s perfect,” he says. “Exactly right.”

007’s face relaxes. He uses his legs to draw Q closer, an angle that would feel really good for the unit too if it has a prostate. As it is, it’s simply watching Q, fingers restless against his arms, as though it’s not sure what to do with them.  

Q reaches down to take his hand, twists their fingers together. For leverage, not for comfort although with any other partner it would be. But the unit doesn’t need that. It squeezes gently though.

Their gazes are locked as Q pulls out and pushes in again. The unit’s cock is trapped between their bodies, as hard as Q’s. But the unit doesn’t react as it’s been programmed to—as though it’s aroused. It’s still watching Q, as it has been all along.

“Your partner will expect you to like it,” he pants in between thrusts, instinctively angling his body for what would feel good for a real partner. “Your face…”

But right on cue, the unit moans, face contorting as though an orgasm is imminent and Q finds it unnerving. He know it doesn’t feel anything, and the play-acting… “You don’t have to pretend now,” Q says breathlessly, pace picking up. “Not with me…”

The unit’s expression clears, but its eyes are bright, watchful as its face shifts into a soft smile and Q finds it impossible to look away. Its free hand skates over Q’s shoulder, fingers gentle as they caress his skin. Its palm cups the back of his neck as it starts pushing its hips into each one of Q’s thrusts.

But it’s the soft caresses that Q feels the most, even as the pleasure builds. And the blue eyes, never leaving his. Entirely focused on him, filled with a warmth that 007 has never directed at anyone else.

Q’s throat is tight, tears climbing up where they have no business. Closing his eyes, he leans down to kiss the unit, wet and messy as its strong arms tighten around him, hold him close as he comes.

When the high fades, he realises he’s shaking. The unit is still kissing him softly, hands stroking his back, murmuring words against his jaw and cheek that Q can’t even decipher. Or figure out how the fuck it knows to do that.

His mind is chaos, panic welling in his chest.

\--

The unit doesn’t know the proper protocol. It wants to stay close to Q, continue touching him; perhaps kiss him again. But Lynd left the bed almost immediately when the sex was over. Q is still on top, still inside. And his fingers are curled against the top of its head, just as they were a moment ago when they pulled the unit closer.

But he’s still now, except for his chest, which heaves with his recent exertions. He’s not moving closer, so the unit doesn’t either. “Lynd suggested a shower is customary after sex,” it says eventually, tentative in case Q prefers quiet.

He pulls back a little, blinking in confusion; obviously not entirely released from the post-orgasm high so lauded in popular media.

But he nods unevenly. “Good idea. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He uses his palms to push up, pulls out of the unit’s body, muscles uncoordinated as he gets off the bed and fumbles for his trousers.

007 didn’t intend to suggest a shared shower, but it finds it prefers the idea. It nods and slides out of the bed, smiling since Q is watching him; fuzzy gaze lingering over its naked form.

Q is as affected by visual stimuli as other humans. He may not find the unit’s facial features attractive but he clearly finds its body arousing.

The unit turns around slowly, allowing a long view of its erect penis before it makes a path to the toilet.

It turns on the shower, just as it did in Lynd’s hotel room, uses the soap and shampoo to remove all trace of Q’s ejaculate.

A much different experience than the sex with Lynd. Preferable in every way. So much so that it will suggest another session, this time with Q as the bottom. If he’s agreeable.

Smiling at the thought of kissing him again, the unit ducks under the spray of water and waits for Q to join him.

But Q doesn’t join him. After fifteen minutes elapse, the unit turns off the water and goes back to the bedroom wrapped in a towel. But Q isn’t there either.

007 takes a moment to dry off and pull on the trousers Q helped take off; they’re crumpled on the floor. It zips and fastens as it walks out of the bedroom.

Q is wearing pyjamas, as he always does in the evenings. He’s in the kitchen, making a cup of tea. He doesn’t look up as the unit crosses the lino.

It keeps its voice quiet as it prompts, “Q?”

He glances over, smiles minutely and returns his attention to the tea.

The unit hesitates as it considers the likely response to a concerned query. Decides it’s worth the risk and asks, “Are you all right?”

The movement of Q’s jaw tells the unit he isn’t. But Q himself says, “ Of course. Fancied a pick me up. I have three agents in the field and not enough assistants.”

There’s a high probably he isn’t being entirely honest. He always has agents to coordinate and not enough time in which to do it. His poor sleeping habits are proof. The quiet is a sign of something else though. Usually his work excites him.

The unit must have done something wrong. Upset Q in some way it doesn’t understand.

The only option is to continue probing.

“If I made a mistake—”

“You didn’t,” Q sighs. His fingers are pressed into the worktop, eyes fastened to the steeping tea. The unit waits, knowing he often needs time to sort through his thoughts. “I have other things on my mind, that’s all.” He looks over at the unit, smiling in the way he never does for anyone else. “You did very well.”

The unit returns the smile, but it doesn’t change the fact that something has deeply upset Q.


	9. Standard Operating Procedure

“I don’t understand the problem.”

“How can you not understand the problem? I liked—” Q lowers his voice even though there isn’t anyone else in the little office except him and Eve. “—having sex with it.”

“So did Vesper.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” She’s curious, voice quiet in deference to the fact they’re waiting for M to tell Q she’s ready to see him. She could appear at any moment and sex is not something you discuss in front of M. Least of all sex with the artificial life form she commissioned.

“Did she tell you about it?” Q asks, curious now as well. Maybe that’s what he needs to do—consult Lynd. Maybe it’s not just him. Maybe she was just as confused. After all, the 007 unit is so lifelike anyone could forget it wasn’t a real lover they were fucking.

“She said it was better than most of the men she’s ever had.”

Q sighs. “Of course it was. I programmed it. I’m good at what I do. Not _that_ ,” he says hastily when she smirks at him. “That’s not what I meant anyway.” But he’s not going to tell her he almost cried while having sex with the unit. Because obviously Lynd didn’t have the same problem.

He would be shocked if she’s ever cried. About anything.

“Where is it now?” Eve asks.

“With Ronson in medical. We went to visit him this morning.”

“Why didn’t it come with you?”

“M asked me to come alone. And Ronson looked like he could use the company. 007 didn’t mind. He likes Ronson.”

“I thought 007 didn’t have emotions?”

“It doesn’t.”

“But it likes Ronson?”

“Everyone likes Ronson.” But that’s hardly her point and Q knows it. “It’s just a saying,” he sighs.

“Or your android is more like a person than you expected and it’s messing with your head. Which is probably why you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out. It’s just… it’s been too long since I’ve had sex.”

“Right,” Eve agrees with a smirk. “That’s all you need. A date.”

“Aren’t you always after me to spend more time out of my lab?” he asks, but Eve isn’t given a chance to answer.

The door to M’s office opens. “Oh, Q, you’re here,” she says as though she didn’t expect to find him. She looks around. “You left the unit in your office. Good.”

“It’s with Ronson, actually. In medical branch.”

Mallory appears behind her shoulder, looking as unamused as ever. “Under supervision, I hope?”

Having not expected him, it takes a moment for Q to find his voice. Technically, there isn’t anyone to supervise the unit, unless Mallory counts the nurses. “Er, yes, but—”

“Come in, Q,” M says, sounding uncustomarily resigned. Q glances at Eve, although she can’t help him. At least she makes a sympathetic face. It doesn’t help nearly as much as he wishes it did.

“What is this about?” he asks once he’s sitting in one of the chairs in front of M’s desk. M is seated as well but Mallory has chosen to remain standing.

“It’s about your android.”

“Artificial intelligence,” Q murmurs the correction automatically. “It’s a more accurate term…”

Mallory looks deeply unimpressed.

Q clears his throat and says, “It did very well on its last mission. Is… is there a problem?”

“We read Ronson’s report,” Mallory tells him. “And the unit’s as well. Apparently you gave Ronson instructions to allow it to take the lead.”

“Yes?”

“A bit early to allow it to run one of the agents, don’t you think?”

“As I explained,” M interjects. “You evaluated the unit’s previous performance, and decided it could take on more responsibility.”

“Yes, I did. That’s what it’s meant to do. It wouldn’t be much use if it constantly needed direction.”

“But that’s exactly how the other units functioned, isn’t it?” Mallory asks.

“And none of them were deemed fit to remain in the field. Every one scrapped. 007 is different—”

“And far exceeding your expectations, if I’m correct?”

Q doesn’t like his tone. He answers cautiously, “So far, yes.”

Mallory smiles. “I’d like to give it to our scientists for study. If we can duplicate your work, create an entire—”

“No,” Q says firmly, startling the chairman. But not M. She’s watching him with her shrewd eyes, no surprise, no disapproval. “I can’t allow that,” he says in a milder tone, but still Mallory looks shocked.  

“Sorry?”

Adjusting his glasses, Q says with a little less force, “I didn’t build the unit as part of an army and I don’t want its template used in that way.”

“But why not? Your peers in the scientific community would surely—”

“I didn’t agree to build 007 in order to garner accolades from my peers. Besides, the unit is unique. It wouldn’t work to simply copy the program and expect a thousand 007 clones to spring up.”

“Perhaps not its personality,” the minister agrees. “But that wouldn’t be a necessary part of what we’re trying to do. We want machines, weapons to take the place of human soldiers. We could even wipe its personality algorithms—”

“What? _No_ ,” Q says again, nearly pushing himself to stand before he remembers to whom he’s talking. He settles for digging his fingers into the armrests of his chair. “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s out of the question. I won’t allow it.”

Mallory frowns, his chest puffing out in the way he has. An attempt to look intimidating that in any other situation would succeed. “Need I remind you, Q, as an employee of MI6, the weapons and gadgets you create belong to the government?”

“With all due respect, sir.” Q says, barely managing to keep his voice respectful, much less level, “perhaps you should check my contract. Especially as regards the 007 unit. M commissioned me to build it and in actual, _legal_ fact, it remains my intellectual property—as well as in my physical custody—for as long as I’m alive. So unless you’re planning to have me killed, as far as 007 is concerned, the choice is mine.”

Mallory is, of course, completely taken aback. Because no one ever expects the quiet, bespectacled quartermaster to have a spine. M intervenes, and if Q’s not mistaken, she’s trying very hard not to smirk.

“I’m sure the minister understands completely,” she says. “You’ve spent the last four years designing and building it to your exact specifications. You know its capabilities better than anyone. As well as its limitations.”

“I do,” Q agrees, still eyeing Mallory warily.

“Then we’ll leave it in Q’s capable hands, shall we, Chairman? Perhaps reevaluate in six weeks?”

As random a time frame as any.

“Very well,” Mallory agrees reluctantly. Q is fairly sure he hasn’t heard the last of this. He stands, but Mallory isn’t quite finished. “And perhaps in six weeks, you might be a bit more reasonable. Another quartermaster can always be found should the need arise.”

“It won’t,” M intervenes again and this time her voice is sharp, but Q doesn’t need her support at the moment.

“Absolutely,” he agrees with a smile just as falsely conciliatory. “And if I leave, I’ll take 007 with me.”

“You’re not leaving, Q,” M says on a sigh.   “And quartermasters as talented as he is, are rather more difficult to find than you seem to believe,” she says to Mallory, who hardly looks chastised.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have work to do.” He chooses a polite tone to take his leave of M before turning away.

He opens the door with more force than is strictly necessary and nearly collides with 007 in the outer office. “Oh. 007. Good. _Good_.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. All he knows is he’s relieved to see the artificial intelligence M commissioned him to build. Relieved he’s alert and walking around. Relieved that no one has decided to do exactly what Mallory suggested and haul it away for tests.

Or turn it off completely when they decide it’s too dangerous.

No one is going to touch him.

The unit regards him with a concerned expression. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Q says shortly. “Mallory wanted to open you up and have you studied by his people. Don’t worry,” he says when he sees the alarm cross the unit’s face. “I reminded him that according to my contract you belong to me and therefore no one is allowed to touch you without my permission.”

Instead of looking relieved at that, the unit says with a hint of acerbity, “Perhaps you should have told him you branded me.”

Startled, Q stares at him. “Sorry?”

“Your initial.” The unit’s fingers make sweeping motions over its hip.

Q can feel his cheeks heating. Thankfully, Eve is no longer in the room. “It’s not a brand,” he says, lowering his voice anyway.

“A signature, then,” the unit says, not a question. “Vesper said you signed your work.”

Q scowls. Vesper says entirely too much. “It’s not a brand,” he says firmly as he takes the unit’s arm and steers him away from M’s office, lest Mallory change his mind. “But that’s not important. M doesn’t want to lose you either, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“But you are worried.”

“According to you,” Q sighs, “I’m always worried.”

“You do worry more than most,” the unit teases but then its expression turns serious again and he asks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

And as simple as that, Q finds himself smiling. Smiling because 007 wants to make him feel better.

But that’s what it always does. And no one has made him feel that way in a long time.

He’s startled to realise it was his last boyfriend that did that for him. And thinking about 007 in the same context…

It’s definitely time for Q to find himself a date.

\--

“Where is he taking you?” the unit asks. The questions regarding Q’s date have reached well into the dozens by now.

“ _I’m_ taking him to dinner. And to the National Gallery afterward if he’s a mind to go.”

“To the gallery?” The unit echoes, using the technique with ease. It’s becoming nearly impossible to spot the difference between its speech patterns and a human’s. “The one you took me to?”

“I didn’t take you there, 007. We were there for field tests.”

“Is there a difference?”

Q smiles as he straightens his shirt. “We weren’t on a date.”

The unit is frowning at him in his reflection. “The difference is you intend to sleep with him afterward.”

“It’s probably better if you don’t talk when he’s here,” Q sighs. “I don’t even know how I’m going to explain you…” Clearly, he hasn’t thought this through. He met Peter before he activated the unit—months ago—at a club Eve dragged him to when she decided he was paler than a vampire from all his hours spent in his labs, and in desperate need of a shag.

He got the number without really wanting it, stuck it in his wallet and proceeded to forget about him.

He’s still a bit surprised Peter remembered him at all. Even more surprised that he very enthusiastically agreed to a date. There was nothing obviously wrong with him, if Q remembers correctly. And he was at least reasonably attractive.

“You can tell him I’m your friend.”

“Perhaps colleague,” Q decides. “Less suggestive. Or an old college roommate. An annoying neighbor who steals my food.” Q is smiling but 007 looks less amused. “Cheer up, 007. You’ll have the house to yourself and I won’t even deactivate you.”

And still that doesn’t bring a smile to the unit’s face.

“Is something wrong with the motor controls in your face?” he asks, concerned as he turns away from the mirror.

“No.” The deeper frown seems to contradict that. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t smiled all day. My mother would tell you to be careful or it might stick that way.”

“Is that meant to be a joke?”

Q shakes his head, amused enough for the both of them. “What are you planning to do tonight? More bad telly for your research?”

The unit follows him out of the bedroom. “It’s more instructive than you realise. Your perception is skewed.”

“Is it?”

“You’ve never known anything other than life with humans—”

“Neither have you.”

“I’m not human. You are, which is why it’s more difficult for you to see that the antics of the actors on those programmes are merely personified versions of you and the humans you associate with.”

And of course, it has a point. “So you _are_ intending to stay in all night and watch telly?” he asks with a smirk as he takes his keys off the hook near the door and slides them into his pocket.

Instead of answering him, 007 tilts his head. “You’re happy.”

He knows it’s referencing his recent reticence, but since the unit isn’t privy to the reasons, he just smiles as he checks to make sure he has his wallet.

“Peter makes you happy?”

“Well, I don’t know yet. But it’s been too long since I’ve had a proper date.”

The unit nods, its expression thoughtful. “How long will you be out?” it asks and Q swears it sounds petulant. Definitely something its not programmed to be, even if it is somewhat amusing.

“Several hours, probably. I should have left you at the office. At least there’s a firing range there.”

The unit’s grumpy expression shifts to a more neutral expression. “I would rather be here.”

“I know.” Q squeezes his arm and turns to look for a coat in the closet.

“You’ll be warmest in your pea coat,” the unit suggests, having come right up behind him. Because he’s still a duckling and it still makes Q smile. He chooses the pea coat.

“He’ll be here in a moment, so don’t say anything... incriminating.”

“You don’t want me to tell him I’m an android?” it asks, sarcasm out in full force. Q frowns a little as he studies its face.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with your program?”

The unit looks confused for a second, but then he nods. “Yes.”

“Mm, well when I get home I should probably run a diagnostic.” There’s a knock on the door before the unit can answer. It frowns.

“How did he get in the building?”

“I don’t know.” Q smiles as he bumps him aside with a hip. He’s standing like a sentinel in front of the door. “Someone probably let him in on their way out.”

“He should have used the intercom.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you disapprove.”

The unit seems to have lost all grasp of humour. Definitely a diagnostic is in order when he gets home. Although most likely this is just his personality expressing itself. It doesn’t enjoy being left alone. Q has no idea how that particular preference worked its way into its program.

Q opens the door.

Peter—he can’t remember a last name—is considerably more attractive than he remembered. About the same age as Q, dark blond hair, blue eyes and obviously fit beneath his tailored shirt. Q smiles.

“Hello.”

Peter smiles as well, greets him with equal enthusiasm—so at least he’s not disappointed by what he sees either. Always a relief.  

“I’m so pleased you finally rang,” Peter says, reaching out to touch his arm. He blinks, startled out of whatever else he meant to say as he unit moves in behind Q. “Oh. Hello?”

“Sorry,” Q says, feeling a grimace coming on which he attempts to morph into a smile. “Peter, this is my roommate… ” He has no idea where that came from. “... er… James Bond.” Not 007, definitely not.

Peter’s smile relaxes. “Pleased to meet you.” He holds out a hand, which 007 does not take.

“Do you have any training in self defence?” it asks and Q blinks, too confused to intervene.

“Erm… no? Is there… a problem?” Peter asks, looking to Q. Q stifles his sigh.

“No, my roommate is just…”

“Overprotective,” the unit supplies, all but looming over Peter now. He’s quite a bit taller, and much broader. Peter looks like he’s reconsidering the entire evening.

“Would you excuse us for a moment,” Q says hastily, taking the unit by the arm and steering him toward the kitchen. “What are you doing?” he asks, an exasperated whisper that Peter can’t possibly hear.

“What do you mean?” The unit does a poor job whispering back.

“You sound like…” _A jealous boyfriend._ Q swallows down the word and shakes his head. “Just… behave yourself. And don’t say anything else.”

The unit frowns at him, but Q thinks that’s probably as much acquiescence as he’s going to get. Q goes back to Peter. Frankly, Q is a little surprised he’s still waiting. His smile is tentative as it glances between them—the unit is a respectable distance behind him, although he’s glaring more than not. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Shall we?” He opens the door and Peter, with an awkward nod for the unit, goes through. Q turns and puts a pacifying hand on the unit’s arm. It looks at him, some of irritation fades but its jaw is still taut as it meets Q’s gaze. “Perhaps a peek at your protection algorithms as well?” Q’s smiling, teasing; and for the first time all day, the unit’s lips tug up just a little.

“Perhaps.”

Q squeezes his arm lightly. “See you in a few hours.”

The unit nods, no longer smiling but Peter is waiting and so Q goes.

“I think your roommate has a crush on you,” Peter says when the door is closed behind him. “Are you sure…” He gestures between them.

“Yes,” Q says firmly. “Let’s go.”

Peter smiles at him, so Q smiles as well although he’s thinking about 007, wondering if he’s made the right choice to leave him activated. But after all, it flew to Turkey and back without any problem—the latter completely by itself.

Q knows he’ll be fine and yet it’s difficult to turn off the worry and focus on his date.

\--

The situation never really improves, and by the time Peter leaves him at his door—with ‘the roommate” as the excuse for why he can’t come in—Q is just relieved to be rid of him. He unlocks his door, grimacing at the slobber still clinging to his neck. A little too much for the first date.

He’s a bit surprised not to find 007 waiting for him. But it gives him a second to close the door and breathe. Leans his forehead against it just so he can wonder for the millionth time what the fuck is wrong with him.

A date with a perfectly nice—if a little too handsy man—and all he can do is wonder what 007 is doing. An artificial life form that may be good company, good for a smile too, but an artificial life form nonetheless. He’s fond of it, he can’t even pretend he’s not. And he’s also completely lost all sense of reality.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he straightens.

“Q?”

It’s not butterflies that accompany that voice. It’s a machine’s voice. The voice of a goddamned weapon.

Q turns around. 007’s brow is furrowed, its blue eyes alert.

“You’re no longer happy.”

“I’m fine,” Q sighs as he runs a finger over his eyelids, massaging to restore wakefulness. He’s not sure he’s slept properly since the unit came online.

“Did he upset you?”

Q shakes out of his coat. “No, just not a great date. It happens.” It’s not exactly the truth, but truth is not high on his list of priorities at the moment. The unit takes his coat to hang it for him. Q murmurs thanks and tips his glasses up for a proper rub. The unit is watching him when he opens his eyes again. “Did you enjoy your rubbish telly?”

“I didn’t watch telly.”

“Oh? What did you do?”

“I phoned Ronson.”

“You did?”

“He asked me to. I think he’s lonely.”

“Most of the agents are. Orphans make the best recruits.” He smiles a little at studying looking he’s receiving. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Are you unwell?” the unit asks before he can turn round.

“No. But I am exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After a second of study, the unit nods. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Q says before turning away. His chest feels hollow as he goes to his bedroom and shuts the door.

\--

Q wakes with a start, to find someone sitting on the edge of the bed and nearly rears off before he realises it’s 007. “ _Shit_ ,” he breathes. His heart feels like it’s trying to jump out of his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I apologize,” the unit says softly, face worried as it peers at Q. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Q shakes out the blanket with a huff. “What are you doing in here?” It’s ridiculous that the unit’s grimace should make him feel immediately guilty for the impatient tone. It rises as though to stand and Q hears himself saying, “It’s fine.” He twists, trying to get comfortable. Now that his heartbeat is tracking back to a normal level, a yawn escapes. “Is something wrong?”

The unit seems to be considering his words. “Infomercials are not as informative as rubbish telly.”

Q smiles, feeling drowsy again. “You were bored.”

“I couldn’t find anything to hold my interest.”

“You were bored.” Q curls into himself, the blanket coming along with him. “What were you watching?” He yawns again, shakes his head to pull himself back to wakefulness. He doesn’t do well with interrupted sleep. Minimal sleep, yes, as long as it’s uninterrupted.

“I don’t want to frighten you again.”

“Wont,” Q mutters. “Now I know you’re here. What did you find on the telly?”

“Top Gear.”

“Top Gear couldn’t hold your interest?”

“I watched it while you were out,” The unit’s voice is soft, melodic. Q struggles to think if it’s always like that. Soothing and deep. “A Vanquish was tested. I think MI6 might benefit from one in its arsenal.”

“ _Do_ you?” Q is smiling into his pillow, lets his eyes close as he yawns again. The unit keeps talking and Q finds himself drifting.

When he wakes again, he’s not nearly as startled to find 007 lying on the bed, its head on one of the pillows. Q thinks he should probably explain that it’s not exactly good form to sleep in someone else’s bed without permission but decides he’s too tired and besides he can hear the unit breathing, in and out in a soothing cadence.

Q closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

He doesn’t wake up for five more hours, the most he’s slept consecutively in months. Possibly years. The unit is still watching him, but at least the concern has been replaced with its usual expression of interest when it’s simply observing. “Am I really that interesting?” Q asks blearily.

“As far as humans go, yes.”

Q laughs, stretches to work his muscles awake and sits up. He’s hard, as he often is in the morning and although the unit has no knowledge of morning erections, he makes sure it’s covered. He doesn’t need any question about arousal right now. He needs to be in the shower in ten minutes or he’ll be late. Not that he’s scheduled for regular work today, but two of the agents are on their way into the field—another for debriefing and Q needs to find another assignment for the unit. He says as much.

“I can accompany one of the agents if you think I still need the practice.”

“Seems a bit soon to tumble you over the edge of the nest.” 007 raises his eyebrows, but Q just smiles. “I need a shower and then we’ll sort out an assignment for you. Pity Ronson’s grounded.”

“Lynd isn’t. Isn’t she going to Uruguay this afternoon?”

“Yes,” Q answers slowly, attempting to gauge its preference on an assignment with her. “Do you want to go with her?”

“The mission requires contact with two CIA agents. It may be interesting to see if I can fool them.” There’s a glint in the blue eyes and Q can’t help but agree.

“If she has no objections,” he sighs. “I can’t imagine M will. I need a shower.” It’s supposed to be an invitation for it to leave, but apparently he needs to be explicit.

Before he can, 007 says, “You’re aroused.”

Heat creeps over Q's face. “I…”

“Would you like an orgasm?”

“I… What?”

“You’re tense. Perhaps it will help you relax. Dopamine.” The unit smiles, quick and eager, nothing like the charm it plasters all over everyone else. Q finds himself nodding, eyes fastened to the bright blue.

Grinning even wider, 007 moves across the mattress. Its hand slides down Q’s chest, working beneath the duvet. Q doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the warm hand finds his cock. The unit smiles at the rush of breath, works him over slowly, suggests in a low voice, “Lube.”

Q fumbles for it, nearly drops it but the unit’s reflexes are as quick as Q made them and he takes it, removes its hand from Q’s dick just long enough to squeeze a dollop in his palm and then he goes back to work, pulling Q’s dick free.

Q’s cheeks are hot. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall against the headboard. It’s just a natural response to stimulation, to friction. But then soft lips touch down on his neck; the unit’s chest pressing against his arm and Q’s heart beats faster.

“Oh, god…” He has to catch at his lip to still the whimper.

007’s mouth is lightly sucking, fingers squeezing at the head of his dick. Alternating with long strokes, palm cupping his balls, squeezing those as well when Q can’t still his moan.

“My mouth is even more talented than my fingers,” 007 says against his ear and god, his _voice_. Q just had to choose the most sensuous voice possible. His cock likes it as well, jerking in the unit's hand at the idea of a blowjob. But Q shakes his head.

“This is fine,” he barely manages to get the words out. “Just… this.”

The unit complies, of course it does. An extremely expensive sex toy.   Thank god M doesn’t know about this. Or Eve, or—

The unit is kissing along his jaw, and Q’s mouth turns automatically to catch its seeking lips. To open to his tongue, a deep kiss that only brings orgasm closer. It’s a good kisser; the best Q has ever had—

He’s so fucked. So fucked. He wants to push the unit down and fuck himself on 007's dick. He comes in its fist instead, groan muffled by the unit’s tongue.

Ejaculates all of over the hand he created from metal and polymer, his face flaming with humiliation and lust. The unit hums, as though it’s satisfied by what just happened, but it can’t be satisfied. Because the unit can’t feel lust, or fondness or anything. It’s programmed to provide sexual satisfaction, programmed by Q himself.

He pulls away from the unit’s kiss, breaths heavy as he attempts to smile. More questions about whether or not he’s upset are not what he needs right now. “Thanks,” he mumbles awkwardly.

But the unit doesn’t know any better so it doesn’t matter. “I need a shower,” Q mutters. He fumbles with his pants and trousers, slides off the mattress and stumbles into the bathroom without looking back.


	10. Felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (i left off the end of the last chapter so i tacked it on here at the beginning. I will move it in a few days to be as it should have been. excuse the mishap)

The unit watches Q walk away, wondering what mistake it made this time. Q’s mood has plummeted twice now after sexual activity. Even though, both times, he gave his permission.

Perhaps the unit isn’t as skilled as it believed. Lynd had no complaints, so perhaps it’s a deficiency where the male anatomy is concerned. Refusing Ronson’s offer to practice may have been unwise.

Perhaps the unit can ask him for advice. The agent asked him to visit this morning. He seemed as open as all the agents are to discussions of sex. Advice most likely fits in the same category.

Q comes into the kitchen, fully dressed in one of his favorite cardigans. He smiles at the unit but it’s vague rather than fully expressed as he moves to the stovetop. Glances over when he finds water already boiling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

The unit winces and Q frowns. “That wasn’t meant as an admonishment,” he says, looking surprised and concerned both. “It’s just… it’s not what I programmed you for. To be my maid. It’s not necessary.”

Venturing, the unit says, “I don’t mind.”

Q smiles a little. “Well, thank you then.”

His routine is the same as it always is, steeping the tea for exactly three minutes while he makes toast. Adding sugar and milk before bringing both to the table. The unit joins him opposite and Q seems to find nothing odd in it. Crunches through a slice of marmalade-laden toast in between sips of the tea. “If Lynd doesn’t want to take you with her, I’ll ask Wilbur.”

“You’re not accustomed to asking the agents to heed your orders.”

Q shrugs. “This is different. They all want to work with you, but I have to be sure they understand the responsibility involved.”

“I’m not likely to get lost.”

The unit wins a smile for the comment. “I know. But I don’t think most of them expect you to be so…” He makes a wriggling motion with his fingers, which the unit can’t entirely decipher. “Mallory still can’t wrap his head around it.” That last is muttered, full of irritation.

“Is he concerned about my stability?” 007 asks.

“No—” Q’s nose wrinkles with distaste. “—he wants to create an army of you to replace all of England’s soldiers. I’m not sure he quite realises we’re not in the middle of a world war. Or else the PM doesn’t. I never have any idea if he’s talking for himself or not.” He smiles into his mug. “He was impressed with you, not concerned at all. Everyone’s impressed.”

The unit has no use for accolades, but at least Q seems pleased. Pleased that the unit is functioning beyond expectations. He still doesn’t look particularly happy.

\--

“I don’t think it’s your technique,” Lynd murmurs as she aims her Walther at the target to her left. “I think Q is in love with you.”

007 lowers its arm, expression switching to one of confusion as it turns to stare at her. She fires off four rounds before she meets his gaze. She smirks, the expression unfettered amusement at the unit’s expense. He raises an eyebrow and turns back to the targets.

“I was counting on you to provide technique, not snark,” he says, allowing the acerbity to overshadow amusement for the moment.

Obviously forgetting the unit can’t be distracted, she comes to stand behind it, lips grazing its ear as she says, “I’ll be happy to provide instruction. My blowjobs are legend.”

“I have no doubt,” it says in the same sensuous tone as it turns its head, responding as it’s programmed to do, only a centimetre from her lips. The door opens then and they both turn their heads to find Q frowning.

“Did we need your permission for that?” Vesper asks with a smile. Q looks unamused.

“The unit is free to do as it thinks necessary. Although I would prefer if you would show a little restraint while we’re at headquarters.”

The unit doesn’t know which of them Q is admonishing. Possibly both.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that while you’re in Uruguay,” he adds with a distinct moue of disapproval. Lynd’s good humour isn’t at all affected. 007, however, would rather not be the target of Q’s ire so it configures its face into a suitable expression of remorse. Q’s lips pinch together before he turns away.

“If you’ll come with me, there are several details to discuss. And then M would like to see you, Lynd.”

“Classic signs of jealousy,” Vesper says, sidling close and lowering her voice so that Q can’t hear.

“I thought we agreed to do away with the wit.”

“I’m not being witty,” she says, although the amusement hasn’t diminished. “In love with you? Unlikely, but he’s reacted twice now like a jealous lover. He told off Mallory when he wanted to diminish your ability to express your personality—”

“He did?”

“Mallory doesn’t think an army of androids need a personality. Trust me, 007, Q is more fond of you than he is of his computers.”

Amused, the unit intends to reply but Q turns around, his eyes impatient as he says, “If you could save the conversation for later, we do have a lot to get through.”

007 ignores Vesper’s knowing look and increases his pace to join Q at the shoulder. He looks less annoyed, but only marginally.

The unit sorts through data as it walks beside him, trying to find a reason—and if possible, a solution.

\--

“There may be something wrong with my programming,” it says while Q is running the standard diagnostic he seems determined to run before every mission. Q turns his head, concern bringing wrinkles to his forehead.

“What is it?” he asks, moving toward the unit even though proximity won’t solve any errors. It’s a human quirk, he thinks. Or perhaps just one of Q’s.

The unit hesitates, unable to predict his reaction to further information. Whether or not he’ll choose deactivation. And the unit hasn’t been able to override the key, although he is close.

Q touches the unit’s arm, another quirk that the unit doesn’t know how to elicit on a regular basis.

“007?” Q’s tone is the soft one he uses when he’s worried. The unit smiles in response, an expression meant to alleviate his distress.

“You’ve made it clear that you don’t want me to express concern for your well-being, but I find it difficult to ignore the signs of unhappiness.”

Q frowns but it’s not censure. “I’ve made it clear?”

Human memories are unreliable. “You’ve told me numerous times I’m not programmed to worry about you. You admonished me for being _an anxiety-ridden sycophant_.”

Q’s frown softens. “I told you I overreacted. I thought you understood… I was upset. Sometimes humans say things they don’t mean when they’re upset.”

“Humans say things they _regret_ when they’re upset,” the unit corrects. “They almost always mean what they say. They’ve simply lost their motivation not to say them.”

Q’s startled expression quickly morphs into amusement. “You are learning a lot from your rubbish telly, aren't you?”

The unit doesn’t return the amusement. Q sighs, folds his fingers together as he often does when he’s nervous. “Do you remember when we talked about the 006 unit? I told you I was angry at myself for what happened?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” An automatic response, one used often by humans.

But Q shakes his head. “It was. It was my program, at least in part. I still feel awful about the agents. And then… I had to destroy the unit, and I just… I can’t do that again.”

007 tilts its head. “You said you didn’t experience grief at its loss.”

“No, I didn’t,” Q says quietly. “But it wouldn’t be the same with you.”

The unit blinks as it processes those words. There seems to be a lag in its vocal processors. “The thought of having to destroy me upsets you?”

Q swallows. His eyes are bright as he turns away to tap at his computer. Calling up flight schedules and rendezvous courses as though the conversation never happened.

But the unit understands now why Q was so upset when he broke Silva’s wrist. And why his anxiety spikes every time the unit does something unexpected.

007 watches him, watches the hinge of his jaw as it tautens. Waits until he confirms a location with an evacuation team and then it says quietly, “You won’t ever need to activate my self-destruct sequence.”

The unit won’t do anything to worry him again.

After a pause, during which Q closes his eyes, he nods. His eyes are still on his screens. “Thank you,” he says belatedly, voice scratchy. The unit nods, moves to stand at his shoulder, in case he should need assistance while he completes his work. The unit has another hour before it has to leave with Lynd.

Q’s spine stiffens and the unit almost steps away but then Q relaxes again, his fingers never losing their rhythm.

“You’ll be careful?” he asks eventually.

The unit smiles, doesn’t remind him he’s bulletproof. Q never seems to remember. “I’ll be careful,” it promises. Q nods, his posture relaxing in increments. 007 stays close to his side.

\--

“How are you going to explain that?” Vesper asks as she lines up with the kerb outside Q’s building.

“I don’t think much explanation will be needed,” 007 murmurs, in deference to Leiter, their CIA contact, currently sleeping in the back seat. “You’ll take him on to headquarters?”

“Well, I’m not likely to drop him off at the corner,” she says with a smile. They’ve been gone for five days, two days longer than expected and under radio silence for most of it. “Perhaps a hotel if he’s interested…”

“Definitely interested,” Leiter mutters. Not sleeping, then. The unit glances back at him and he smiles drowsily. “You’re welcome to join us.”

But Vesper intervenes, “Q wouldn’t like that.”

“Your boyfriend, right,” Leiter grunts, shifting to find a more comfortable position for his bruised ribs.

The unit doesn’t correct him. He and Vesper enjoy the teasing and it can find no real harm in it. Lynd is grinning. The unit rolls its eyes—an expected response—and reaches for the door handle, but Leiter grips his shoulder.

007 turns its head, eyebrows questioning. With his expression serious now, the American extends a hand. “Thanks,” he says, gesturing with his free hand to his torso. “For this.”

“Your bruised ribs?” 007 asks with a smirk. Leiter chuckles.

“Better bruised than run through with a blade.”

The unit nods with its chin toward its chest. “You already returned the favour.”

Leiter smiles. “Take care of her.”

“They will,” Vesper assures him and they share another grin. The unit sighs at their antics. Still smiling, Vesper leans over to kiss its cheek. “Tomorrow in M’s office.”

“For debriefing, I assume you mean?” The unit asks playfully.  

“If only you would oblige me,” she teases right back.

“The invitation still stands,” Leiter reminds him.

“Perhaps later.” Leiter may even be a good choice for lessons, especially as he has no idea the unit isn’t human. He leaves the agent to mull over the idea—one that clearly interests him as it gets out of the Audi.

As soon as the door is closed, Vesper pulls away from the kerb with a squeal of expensive tires.

The unit puts a careful hand over the bundle in his jacket and opens the door to the building with the code he’s been given by Q. Takes the stairs rather than waiting for the lift. Radio silence means Q has no idea the mission is over, but he should be relieved the unit made it back without damage.

007 opens the door, finding the main rooms only dimly lit and no sign of Q. It’s a bit early for him to be sleeping, but it’s not unheard of.

The unit carefully opens his coat. The little cat it brought back from Uruguay is still asleep. Moving carefully so as not to jostle her, he crosses the space and crouches to set her in the small bed that belonged to Q’s cat. Best to see if Q is asleep before attempting an introduction.

She doesn’t open her eyes, but she’s still breathing. The unit has kept a careful eye on her, and it knows her cadences well by now. She was fed on the journey back to London. Her fur is matted, her body thin from malnutrition. She isn’t the sort of cat humans typically gravitate toward, but 007 doesn't think Q will hold these failings against her.

Smiling as it straightens, the unit intends to take off the heavy coat meant to keep a human warm in Uruguay’s cold weather, but the little cat opens her eyes and makes a sound a human would consider pitiful. It’s the first time she’s been alone since 007 rescued her. She is probably frightened.

He picks her up carefully and tucks her back into the coat before turning toward the bedroom, pausing a few steps away. The light is on, the door propped open. The unit’s auditory processors pick up low voices.

Alert for possible danger, the unit steps into the room. Halts as soon as he crosses the threshold.  

Q isn’t the only one in the room

He’s with another man, a man the unit doesn’t recognize. Q is fucking him, hands pinning the other man to the mattress. The unit stares at them, its face twisting.

“What the…” The other man starts when he notices the unit. “Um…”

“What?” Q asks, breathless. He turns his head as well and his eyes immediately widen. “Shit,” he breathes. “ _Shit_. What are you… Oh, shit.” He’s rolling away from the other man, gathering the sheet around his body.

His partner winces, face crumpling with confusion and slowly seeping anger. “What is this? Is he… Is he your _boyfriend_?”

“No,” Q says, voice rising. “No, he’s… Oh fuck me, you need to leave, I’m sorry.”

The unit finds its legs moving, feet silent across the wood as it advances toward the bed, eyes focused on the man, whose expression rapidly changes to one of alarm.

And then before the unit can take another step, Q is in front of him, a hand on his chest. “Hey,” his voice is quiet, but 007’s attention goes to him immediately, to the sheet clutched around him and the anxiety pinching his face. “It’s okay,” his tone is nothing like the emotion on his face. It’s soft and melodic. “It’s okay.”

The unit’s chest is rising and falling, out of measure with its usual rhythm. It focuses all of its attention on Q’s face, on the various hues of his irises, the dark lashes and the moles scattered across his face.

“Okay?” Q asks, still quiet, hand still directly over the cavity where the unit’s artificial heart beats.

Slowly, 007 nods, drawing a breath like a human would in order to calm itself. Which… is not something it’s ever done before. Not without deliberate intent. It once again finds speech difficult as though its processors are damaged, but he doesn’t think they have been.

The front door slams, but Q doesn’t seem to hear it. Or notice the man he was fucking has left. 007 didn’t notice either. It’s programmed to notice everything in its environment. Every person, every movement.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Q says in the same soft tone. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” the unit answers, volume and pitch matching his automatically. “I didn’t think he did.”

“Then…”

But the unit doesn’t know, can’t answer the question in Q’s eyes. “I wasn’t expecting to find another man in your bed.” It doesn’t know if that’s an answer.

“You were surprised?” Each of Q’s statements rise in a question.

“I didn’t like it.”

Q stares at him. “You…” He squints, lips seeming confused as to whether they should pull up or down. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you use ‘like’ in conjunction with a preference.”

007 grimaces, but Q’s fingers are sweeping over his coat, a motion meant to soothe. “It’s not a bad thing. It makes you sound…”

“Human,” 007 finishes for him, an ironic lilt where none was intended. Q’s gaze drops away but comes back again.

“You’re not human. It sounds silly—” His fingers pinch one of the unit’s lapels between thumb and forefinger, “—but it’s getting more and more difficult to remember.”

“Is that why you remind me so often?” the unit asks, startling Q before he realises it’s smiling.

“I think I’m reminding myself,” he says quietly

He’s obviously not being literal.

Another piteous mewl interrupts his confusion. Q blinks. “Is that…”

“I brought you a cat.”

Q stares at him. “What?"

Judging by the expression on Q’s face, the unit may have miscalculated. It’s too late for that, however. The little cat is struggling to free herself from where she’s nestled inside his coat. Q’s eyes widen even further. “You have … oh my god, is he okay?”

 _A scraggly thing_ , Vesper had called her, expression disapproving. Q’s is the opposite, face soft and inviting and concerned as he reaches out to offer his fingers to the little cat. She mewls again as she struggles to escape from the cocoon where she’s been napping for the last hour.

Q pulls open just enough buttons to lift her free. “Where did he find you, darling? You’re so thin, hasn’t anyone been feeding you?” He strokes her unkempt fur gently. “Where did you find him?” Q asks, his voice low as he glances up at the unit.

“She was trapped in a building.”

Q blinks behind his glasses. “You brought her all the back from Uruguay?”

“She needed a home,” 007 says hesitantly. “I thought she might make you happy. I was concerned about your recent melancholy. If you don’t want her…”

“No,” Q laughs, palm curling around her small body. She paws at the sheet still wrapping him. “She can stay.” He looks up, smiling as he meets the unit’s. “Thank you.”

007 smiles slowly. “Her name is Felix.”

“Felix? Isn’t that the name of one of the CIA operatives?”

“He found her and helped me rescue her. She was trapped in a wall. Vesper wasn’t pleased with either of us.”

“She wouldn’t be. She doesn’t like animals. Although how anyone could dislike you,” he says, face close to Felix’s, “I have no idea.” He looks up at the unit again. “Has she had food?”

“Chicken. On the plane.”

“Just give me a moment,” Q says as he carefully hands her back to the unit. He goes into the ensuite, and when he emerges less than a minute later, he’s wearing his pyjamas. His hair is sticking up at all angles. He takes Felix back as soon as he’s close enough.

“Come on,” he says and the unit isn’t certain which of them he’s addressing. “Let’s find you another bit of food, shall we?”

The cat.

007 follows close behind.

Q fusses over the cat, filling one of the old dishes with water and then opening a can of the food that must be left over from the cat who died. All while cradling Felix to his chest, speaking softly to her with words she can’t possibly understand. But the unit can hear her purring from where he watches from the doorway in the kitchen.

Once Felix is eating, Q sits back on his heels beside her but no longer touching her. He squints up at the unit.

“You named a cat after an American operative?” He’s amused.

“Since he played a significant role in her safe extraction from the wall, it seemed appropriate. According to my research, it's often done by humans. Choosing names based on those who have played an important role.” Q is smiling. “You can choose another if you like.”

Felix has finished eating and she accepts the gentle hand Q runs down her back by moving into it. “It suits her,” he says, looking up at 007, his smile softening. “We’ll have her checked my old veterinarian, to be sure she’s healthy and she may need supplements… she’s a skinny thing, isn’t she? And a bath for this coat. You’ll hate that, won’t you, love?”

Felix purrs in response and Q’s smile is soft, so like the one he often aims at the unit that 007 is reminded of Silva’s observation at their first meeting: _So, it’s to be your pet, then?_

He hasn’t made that particular connection before, but it’s one that makes sense. And one that the unit dislikes.

“Come down here,” Q says quietly, perhaps to be sure he doesn’t startle Felix.

007 obliges, crouching in the same manner. But Q lets himself sink to the floor, legs folded and knees at angles. The unit copies that as well. Q is smiling at him, still stroking the cat. “How was the mission?” he asks. “M said it would be another day. She had information from the Americans.”

“They miscalculated.”

“I’m glad,” Q says as the cat moves closer to him. “I know you’re bullet proof but the radio silence was unnerving. I know you couldn’t help it.”

Felix is rubbing her face and body all over Q’s trousers, a behavior that seems to indicate she’s comfortable. “I watched your tracker the entire time.”

“Except the last hour.”

Q looks up quickly, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Yes, well…”

“I apologize,” the unit says quietly but Q shakes his head.

“That’s not something… you don’t need to worry about him coming back. Eve made me leave headquarters. Once M said you were all safe. This is the first time I’ve been home since the order for silence came in.”

It may not be the time to tease, but perhaps it will ease the strain from Q’s voice. “And he just happened to be at your flat waiting for you?”

A smile tugs at Q’s lips but he ducks his head to concentrate on the cat and it’s gone when he says, “She took me to a club. It just… It was an experiment of sorts.”

The unit runs the phrase through its databanks but comes up with no connection to sexual activity beyond the obvious ones. It wants to ask what sort of activities he was intending to try but can’t reliably predict his reaction. He nods, allowing Q his privacy.

He’s quiet then as he strokes the cat, smiling at her when she seeks the warmth of his lap. “You shouldn’t be tired yet,” he murmurs. “But I suppose you must be exhausted from just trying to stay alive. How long do you think she was there?”

“Impossible to know. We discovered her as we were leaving. Which is why Lynd was so impatient.”

“She’ll be okay now. Felix,” he adds, grinning as he lifts his face. “Not Lynd.”

007 smiles, gestures to the cat. “She’s asleep.”

“So she is… Here,” he says, moving as though to stand. “I’ll move her bed—”

“Allow me.” 007 takes her carefully, places her in the crook of an arm and offers a hand to Q. After a pause, Q takes it and allows the unit to pull him up. He drops the hand as soon as he’s standing, pivots and goes to fetch the bed.

He takes it to the bedroom, with the unit following close behind. He has to settle her again once he takes her from the unit, crouching again as he says soothing words as though she is a human in need of comfort rather than a cat.

And once she’s asleep, 007 extends a hand once more. And this, Q accepts without hesitation and once the unit pulls him up, they’re standing closer than expected.

Q’s breathing rate has increased, only incrementally but enough that 007 inspects his eyes, to see that his pupils are dilated. He’s aroused, which could be simply because his liaison was interrupted.

The hand that finds its way back to 007’s lapel seems to indicate otherwise, but the unit understands human sexual quirks. Well enough to know they are often willing to substitute one partner for another to simply ‘scratch an itch’.

The unit doesn’t mind being a placeholder. Especially if Q is willing to stand so near. Perhaps it can encourage more touch. Cautiously, it shifts forward—only a centimetre but Q doesn’t notice. He stays where he is, thumb stroking the silk lapel.

“You brought me a cat,” he says, timbre soft and speculative; and apropos of nothing as far as the unit can decipher.

So he answers with a rise at the end of his, “Yes?”

Q’s eyes are bright again, as they were before the unit left on its mission but he doesn’t look distressed as he did then. “You didn’t like me being in bed with another man.”

He should be distressed. As he often is when the unit behaves out of its programming. “It’s not my prerogative,” he begins but the words are cut off as Q takes his other lapel, grips both and yanks the unit forward.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and then he’s kissing the unit, mouth demanding in a way that would catch him off guard were he human. It’s a welcome demand, one the unit meets without hesitation. Pulls Q close so that there won’t be any space left between them.

Q is impatient, hands all over as he tugs the unit out of its coat while continuing to kiss him roughly. The glance of teeth is surprising, but just as acceptable as the rest. Whatever Q wants he can have.

He hasn’t considered rough sex as a desire his creator might have, but the unit has researched enough sexual kinks to attempt reciprocation, although it’s careful not to put too much strength behind his fingers as they grip his hair.

To truly harm Q is unthinkable.

But Q seems to like the light tug against his scalp. He moans, muffled by the unit’s lips as he pushes it backward until it bumps the wall. Grips his wrist in the same way he held the man he brought home from the club; more evidence that Q is still aroused from thoughts of the interrupted tryst.

But it doesn’t matter. He’s content at the moment, as he lets the unit go briefly to scrabble at the buttons on its shirt. 007 helps, reflexes faster than Q’s will ever be. Reaches for his jumper as well, although it means they have to separate briefly.

But as soon as he’s free, Q comes straight back, kissing him with even more enthusiasm, no longer rough but simply eager. The unit grips his wrist and pulls him in with one quick tug so that they’re bodies are snug, angles its head to kiss him more deeply.

Perhaps to kiss him well enough to make him forget the other man.

\--

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Q says, still breathless after fucking him with abandon. He’s rolled away now, although he’s close enough that their arms are touching. “It wouldn’t look right... The first time it was okay, being practice, but this…”

He’s looking at the ceiling and there seems to be no acceptable response except, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Q turns his head, smiles a little. Just for a moment before he grimaces. “I need a shower.” He slides out of the bed, gathering the sheet around him. He pauses to check on Felix, still sound asleep in her new bed, before continuing on his way. He closes the door behind him.

It’s a clear sign that the unit isn’t invited to join him. 007 is uncertain, however, of the protocol. Should he remain in bed, wait for Q to come back? Or should he get dressed and retreat?

He shared the bed with him once, and Q didn’t seem to mind. But he was half-asleep and most likely too tired to eject him. Retreat seems the safest option.

007 dresses with minimal movements as it always does, does its own reconnaissance to be sure the cat is still breathing before leaving. There’s little to do beyond more research. He wonders briefly why humans often complain about the necessity of sleep.

They obviously don’t realise how bored they would become after the novelty wore off. Not that the unit experiences boredom; it’s not in his programming. Perhaps it should ask Q to assign additional tasks. It would not only serve to ease some of the burden of being quartermaster, but also fill the hours.

The unit detects footsteps against the wood. It turns to see Q, dressed only in pyjama trousers. The unit’s gaze lingers over his chest and the slim line of his waist. He has very little hair, save the dark line above his waistband, leading to the thick thatch of course hair that surrounds his penis.

Q allowed very little time for intimate study during their sexual encounters, although the unit would spend as much time looking at him as possible. And touching as well, but Q is even less inclined toward touch.

At least when it comes to touching 007. He has no such reservations about the unit touching him during sex.

There’s no frame of reference for touching him outside of sex, although very few people ever touch Q. Except Moneypenney.

“Is everything okay?” Q asks, not noticing the lingering examination. He’s wearing worried lines across his forehead.

“Of course.”

“Oh.” Q wraps his arms around his bare torso. “You left.”

007’s frowns. “Did you want me to stay?”

But Q doesn’t answer. He seems to realise he’s half naked because he crosses the room to pick up the jumper he’s left over one of the chairs, zips it as he asks with his lips quirked, “Rubbish telly?”

Conversations with Q are becoming increasingly unpredictable. But the unit is programmed with the ability to adjust—it’s one of its main functions. So it nods and follows Q to the couch.

“Is Felix still asleep?”

“Yeah. I hope there’s nothing wrong with her.”

“Fatigue often occurs alongside malnutrition.”

Q fiddles with the remote, frowning worriedly as he says, “I’ll take her to see the vet in the morning.” He twists round. “Maybe I should have brought her out here...”

“She’s extremely vocal,” 007 assures him. Smiles a little. “And mobile.”

Q smiles as well as he shifts to find a more comfortable position; and one that puts him closer to the unit.

“Did you have trouble in the field?” he asks as 007 scans the grid listing the programmes currently playing. “Everything as it should be?”

“No trouble.” The unit watches as Q exhales and inhales again.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be away so long.”

007 stays perfectly still so as not to dislodge him. “Is that another way of saying you missed me?” it asks with a grin. Q makes a soft huffing sound; like laughter that didn’t come to fruition.

“I did miss you, odd as it is to say that. But then…” He shakes his head when the unit glances at him. Doesn’t finish his thought, although the unit can extrapolate it’s a reference to their sexual activities. It therefore ignores the hanging thought and considers the selections of movies—chooses one and gets a considering look from Q.

“I, Robot?”

“Objections?”

“No,” Q says, although his expression reads very clearly as someone who has many objections—or perhaps, he has questions. But the unit doesn’t press.  

Q shifts as the movie plays, as the robots on the screen turn against humanity. “What are you learning from this?” he finally asks, curious.

“The range of emotions that humans exhibit at the concept of artificial life is fascinating. Fear is a common theme in movies like this,” the unit says. “Fear that artificial intelligences will eventually move beyond their programming and turn against their human creators. Your colleagues share that fear.”

Q is quiet as he watches the movie, eventually murmuring, “It’s not entirely ridiculous. That’s what happened with the 006 unit.”

“That was a malfunction, not a challenge to its enslavement.”

“Enslavement?”

“The terminology of the movie,” the unit says, gesturing to the television.

Q narrows his eyes, worried again as he asks, “Do you feel like you’ve been enslaved?”

“I think that would interfere with my work.” He intends levity but Q frowns.

“ _Do_ you?” he asks again, a sharper tone that the unit doesn’t particularly care for.

“You see me in a relatively similar light as the humans in this movie,” it says, not intending to insult but the expression on Q’s face implies he’s failed. “As a servant.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“As one of your tools,” the unit clarifies. “As a weapon.”

“That’s…” Q has straightened, indignant in every line of his body. “Not as one of my tools, but you were designed to be a weapon, just as the other agents are—”

“The other agents aren’t your servants.”

“They’re in my charge. Soldiers, who have little choice in their assignments.”

“But they do have a choice.”

Q waves his hands in an indistinct gesture. “You’re not human.”

“I’m aware. As you remind me at every opportunity, how could I not be?”

Q is staring at him, and the unit immediately sets its face back to a neutral expression. A miscalculation, not only choosing this particular movie but also its words. “I don’t see myself as a servant,” it says, chosen to smooth away the look on Q’s face. It doesn’t work.

“You’re lying,” he says quietly. “It’s funny, I can tell now even though you should be able to hide it.”

“I apol—”

“Don’t,” Q sighs. “You’re more self aware than I ever planned for you to be, but it doesn’t matter what I planned. You brought me a cat.”

Tilting his head, 007 ventures, “I don’t see the connection?”

“Because you don’t even realise you’re doing it,” Q says, lips attempting to lift. “You have opinions, you mimic emotions.”

“I realise I have opinions,” the unit says, voice flat but that only completes Q’s smile.

“I know you do.”

“And that amuses you.”

“It doesn’t alarm me,” Q tells him. “It did alarm me. It worries me sometimes. I’m trying _not_ to be worried.”

The unit considers him. “I would say you’re succeeding. At least somewhat.”

“Thanks,” Q says, rolling his eyes. In a more serious tone he says, “But I am concerned if you think these—” He waves his fingers at the screen. “—people are like me. The robots rebelled for a reason.”

“You do realise this is a fictional work?”

“I know. But the concern remains. If you become so self aware that you mimic resentment—”

“I won’t resent you.”

But Q doesn’t look particularly reassured. It's obviously in the unit's best interest to keep its plans to override the deactivation key from him.

“I understand I’m a machine,” it says quietly.

“I know—”

“I understand my limitations.”

Q frowns. “I’m not sure limitations—”

“I can’t feel,” the unit reminds him. “I can’t sleep.”

Q looks startled, but the unit continues before he can say anything, “I understand very well that I’m not human. That I was created for the sole purpose of protecting queen and country. I don’t resent you for treating me like a machine. I _am_ a machine.”

Q swallows. He nods eventually, and turns back to watch the movie. He’s sitting closer, although the unit can’t pinpoint the catalyst that motivated him to do so. They watch the doctor attempting to gain the trust of the robot.

“You wish you could sleep?” Q asks as the robot falls through a glass ceiling.

“It’s difficult to fill so many hours,” the unit answers and Q nods again. “I thought perhaps you might give me other assignments. Anything your staff might find tedious during those hours. Or I could free their time by monitoring agents, when I’m not in the field. If that would help?”

“If you like,” Q murmurs. “Thank you.”

The unit has no idea why his mood has shifted so drastically. “If you’re tired,” he says, keeping his voice low and soothing, “we can finish this in the morning.”

Q turns his head. He’s smiling but it doesn’t reflect in his eyes. “I’m not tired, but I think I’ll go fetch Felix.”

The unit doesn’t argue, although it wonders why Q feels the need to rouse her just now. He’s back a moment later, the cat curled into his chest. Q sits carefully, legs beneath him. She’s purring into his jumper.

Q looks up, smiling when their eyes meet and 007 knows he made the right choice in bringing her to him.

He wishes though that Q wasn’t sitting so far away.


	11. Merrily, Merrily

“You’re doing it again,” Eve says as she sets a mug of tea on Q’s desk.

“Hm?”

“You haven’t left your office since you sent 007 off to Montreal.”

“He only left four hours ago.” Another partnered mission, this time with Agent Mills, an extremely competent agent—one of their oldest. She’s been with them almost as long as Silva and she has the added benefit of being much nicer.

“And here you are, holed up in your office.”

“I’m not holed up. I’m working.” But he takes a moment to look up from his computer, smiling as he takes a sip of the tea she brought. “Thank you.”

She shrugs with one shoulder as she drinks her coffee. “What are you working on so busily, then?”

“A new program for 007,” Q murmurs as he returns his attention to the script on the screen.

“What is it?”

“A dream-simulator.”

“A what?”

“Dreams,” Q repeats, distracted by a line of code that doesn’t want to do his bidding. “Simulates the dreaming process by randomly generating images from actual experiences and ones that never happened —a bit like creating a movie, although I’m not far enough along to predict how well it will work.”

“Why would the unit need to dream?”

“It doesn’t need to dream. But he mentioned not having enough to fill the night hours and I just thought it might be a nice surprise.”

“A surprise.”

“Mm.”

“For an android?”

The amusement in her tone brings Q’s head up. She’s smirking, obviously playing with him as she always does. He shakes his head and goes back to his code. “I set myself a challenge. It has nothing to do with that.”

“With what?”

But she knows exactly what she’s implying so Q doesn’t bother to answer.

“And how about the guy you met at the club? David, was that his name? Did you go back to his place or yours?”

Q grimaces as he remembers 007’s reaction to finding him with someone. He was genuinely concerned for David’s safety—not that he had given him even a second’s thought once he stopped fucking him.

“My place, but we were interrupted.”

“By 007?”

He sighs at her smile. Wonders if she knew that the unit planned to walk in on them, but of course she couldn’t have. Either way, it’s the last time he’s taking her suggestion of finding a man in a club. It didn’t work like he was hoping anyway. But admitting that to Eve—that he was thinking of an artificial intelligence while kissing a real flesh and blood human—is not something he’s ever going to do.

“Bill’s here,” she interrupts his thoughts. Q looks up to see her leaning backwards in order to see past the doorjamb. “Lucky for you,” she teases. “He’s in here!”

“Good morning,” Tanner says with his usual cheer as he steps into the room. “M wants to see… When did you get a cat?”

Q glances over at Felix, happily batting a stuffed mouse around the floor. “A few days ago.”

“007 brought her all the way from Uraguay,” Eve says, as though she’s sharing a secret. “To cheer him up.”

“Ah.”

Q sighs and goes back to his code. He doesn’t even want to ask how Eve knows any of that.

“That’s what M wants to see you about.”

Code forgotten for the moment, Q’s head comes up swiftly. “My cat?”

“Your android.”

“007?”

Tanner’s smiling. “She has to be at the airport in two hours, so if you could…” He gestures toward the door.

This doesn’t bode well, although Q isn’t sure why his instincts are telling him so. To Eve he asks, “Sit with Felix?”

“I won’t take my eyes off her.”

\--

“It won’t be the end of it, I’m afraid.”

“And my contract?” Q asks, keeping his voice calm because this isn’t M’s fault. Mallory’s either as far as he can tell. But there are pressures for everyone it seems and the chairman is a bureaucrat through and through.

“There are ways to get around that, if they really want. Claims of public safety will make it easier.”

“To just take 007 away, just like that? They can’t.”

“I’ve convinced Mallory it wouldn’t be wise, as you’re the only one who knows enough about it. It would take too long for someone else to start from the beginning. He’s suggested the PM could ask you to join the team assigned the unit.”

“My answer to that will be no.”

M smiles. “I told him it would be.”

At least he’s not alone in this. “And what did he say?”

“He asked me to convince you to build another.”

Q gapes at her. “He can’t be serious. It took me more than four years to build him!”

M’s eyes narrow, just enough to put his spine at alert. “Do you realise you increasingly refer to the unit as though it’s a person?”

He didn’t realise. And he has no idea why she felt the need to point it out. So he stays with more important things, “To put that amount of work into another unit is… It’s too much.”

M doesn’t immediately reply. After a moment of study, she asks, “Are you certain your hesitation is based on time constraints rather than your personal feelings?”

“I don’t have—” he begins to protest but can see by her expression that it’s coming off too strong. “I’m certain,” he says instead, but it doesn’t seem to be much of an improvement.

“Building another unit wouldn’t put 007 in jeopardy,” she says equitably. “The opposite is almost certainly true. They’ll have no need to attempt to take it if they have their own.”

Telling her it will never happen seems too petulant a response. This isn’t her fault. So he says evenly, “You may be right.

She doesn’t smile. Because it’s not a capitulation and she doesn’t want one anyway.

\--

007 returns less than twenty-four hours later, mission accomplished and without casualties. It was another without contact so it arrives in the early hours of the morning. Quietly this time and without dramatics.

Q is already awake, and working at his desk with Felix asleep near the keyboard. Although the vet found nothing wrong with her that food and care can’t fix, she still sleeps more than she should.

But that should take care of itself.

Q turns when he hears the door opening, smiles when he sees the unit step inside. It’s moving cautiously, perhaps in anticipation of finding Q in the middle of yet another date.

His stomach dips at the thought of its distress—not distress, since he can’t feel emotions. But a close enough approximation to make Q feel a guilt that he knows isn’t necessary.

Standing carefully so he won’t disturb Felix, Q goes to meet the unit by the door. Its face relaxes into a smile as soon as it sees him. “I didn’t expect you so soon,” Q says.

“The mark offered little resistance when he realised we knew his name—and the name of his wife and children.”

“Did you threaten them?” Q asks curiously.

“You disapprove?”

“No, I’m just surprised Mills allowed it.”

“It was Mills who made the threats.”

Surprised, Q lets that sink in. She doesn’t seem the type. “But they weren’t actually harmed?”

“It’s against my programming to harm children—or innocent spouses, for that matter.”

He sounds offended, and Q shouldn’t smile but he does anyway. “My mistake,” he says, teasing. It brings the smile back to the unit’s face as it take off its coat. “Everything went well, then?” he asks.

“As well as can be expected. I’d rather not be partnered with Mills again.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t like me.”

Q frowns. “She doesn’t _like_ you? She was happy with the assignment.”

“She’s your subordinate. She had no choice but to take the assignment. She would have deactivated me if you had given her the choice. As it was, she ordered me not to speak—or _help_ in any way.” The unit emphasizes the word in a mocking tone and Q bristles.

“She didn’t let you do _anything_?”

“She promised to shoot me if I did anything she didn’t like. She didn’t realise I’m bulletproof,” he adds with a smile.

But Q is livid. “I can’t believe she said that. She’s going to get an earful,” he mutters as he turns away. Returning to his desk to send a note to M—an extremely terse one that will be punctuated with his presence as soon as he gets to headquarters. And another to Mills.

His sharp movements wake the cat. Pausing for a quiet apology, he scoops her up and hands her off to 007, who is, of course, just behind him.

“You needn’t reprimand Mills on my account,” it says, taking Felix at the same time and tucking her into his chest.

“She has no right to make threats against you. For god’s sake, did she think I wouldn’t notice if she brought you back full of bullet holes?” he mutters to himself. Neither message takes long, and he’s still irritated once they’re sent on their way.

It fades considerably when he turns around to find Felix kneading 007’s shirt with her paws. Its large hand is on her back, nearly covering her completely, fingers gently caressing.

“She likes you, you know.”

007 looks up, expression surprised. “She recognizes me as her liberator.” It’s more than that, Q thinks, but he doesn’t say as much. The unit glances down at the cat again, considering her. “There’s considerable debate concerning whether animals feel emotions,” it murmurs, eyes intense as though he expects to find an answer in her face.

“Animals have emotions,” Q says quietly, transfixed by the fingers softly stroking the white fur.

“How do you know?”

Q looks up. The unit is studying him; eyebrows drawn together. “Just look at her,” he says. “She doesn’t react that way to anyone else.” Smiling, he adds, “She’s claiming you.”

“The kneading is an instinct left over from when she was a kitten; a nursing instinct intended to stimulate the mammary glands.”

“Well, yes, but see the connection? From her mother to you.” It’s impossible not to grin at the image. 007, however, is frowning at him.

“But instincts aren’t emotions.”

“Sometimes they are.” He shrugs, not knowing how to explain. “Love can be instinctual, a bit. Humans have a habit of loving people who take care of them. Just like Felix is doing.”

“Mm.”

It’s a sceptical hum, not an agreement. “Why does it matter?” Q asks, amused.

“It doesn’t.” The unit cradles the cat with its other hand, turning her so she’s tucked against its chest. “Come on,” he says to her, the first time Q’s heard him actually speak directly to her, “time for breakfast.”

Q follows after them, bemused.

He watches the unit feed her, following the same patterns Q follows, except it doesn’t crouch beside her. Choosing instead to watch her for a moment before turning to fill up the kettle.

Something else Q has never seen the unit do.

He’s also apparently making toast.

“What are you doing?” Q asks from where he’s standing in the doorway.

“Making breakfast.”

“You don’t need—”

“I want to,” the unit says, succinct and not even looking at Q. “Jam or marmalade?” He glances back when Q doesn’t’ answer, smiles in what looks to be encouragement.

“Er… jam, but I’ll get it.”

007 doesn’t argue, simply goes about fetching a mug. And a plate for the toast. And when Q returns with the jam, the unit takes it from him. Q almost tells him again he doesn’t have to play nursemaid, but the unit’s jaw is set. An affectation of either stubbornness or annoyance, Q doesn’t know.

But either way, he lets him spread the jam.

“Thank you,” he says, still mystified, when the plate and mug are held out for Q to take. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with your program?”

“I made tea,” the unit says with a bit of sarcasm about it. “I don’t think that qualifies me for a diagnostic.”  

“Does the toast?” He’s only teasing and 007 realises it, judging by the quick smile. He picks up the cat, who has finished her meal and is pressing up against Q’s leg. “She looks better,” Q says as he sits at the table. “Don’t you think?”

“Mm.”

He’s watching Q, perhaps wondering if he’ll actually partake of the breakfast offering, but if this is the worst of the unit’s quirks, he really has nothing to complain about. He eats the toast and drinks the tea.

007 seems satisfied as he puts Felix down again. She’s recovered enough to be quite happy with that arrangement, stalking invisible enemies into the other room. The unit smiles after her and Q smiles at the unit.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he says, drawing 007’s attention back. He’s finished the toast, so he dusts the crumbs off his fingers and picks the tea up to bring with him to his desk.

“New equipment?” the unit asks, voice pitched with interest.

“Not exactly,” Q answers. “And where is your gun, speaking of which?”

The unit pats its jacket, over where the holster sits.

“You don’t need that in here,” Q says with a smile, setting the tea down again to reach for the unit’s jacket, tugging it from his shoulders with ease, especially when the unit helps by rolling them back to let the jacket slide off. Q puts it over a chair rail, watching as 007 takes the gun out.

“No problems?” he asks, examining it once the unit hands it over.

The unit shakes its head, gaze focused on his face. It feels like a familiar scene, a scene that ends with a kiss. And the unit wouldn’t object, Q is fairly sure. It would be so easy to simply step forward and kiss him.

Except it’s not about hormones right now, not about fucking. Just a kiss, like one might kiss a partner home after time apart. But the unit isn’t his partner, he’s a machine and it can’t have missed Q.

Although Q can’t lie to himself effectively enough not to admit in the privacy of his thoughts that he missed the unit.

It’s familiar and comfortable. The flat seems emptier without 007. It’s not something Q wants to examine. So he steps back and with the gun still in his hand, he says, “I’m working on something.”

He leads the way to the desk, locks the gun in the top drawer—wouldn’t want Felix disturbing it. “It’s not finished, but I could use your input. I think you’ll like it.”

Curious, and standing just behind Q’s shoulder, it asks, obviously meant to be a joke, “A gift?”

“Well, yes, actually…” Feeling silly, Q looks away from the surprised expression on the unit’s face. “Just a program I thought you might like… It’s, er… well, it’s so you can dream. Not really, of course, because you can’t sleep but it simulates a dream state. At least it should and you don’t have to activate it you don’t like the idea, but I thought you might like to try it and it should help you pass the long hours at night if nothing else…”

007 is staring at him while Q shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he’s made a colossal idiot of himself. The unit looks at the computer screen, eyebrows intent as its eyes flick over the code. And then he turns back to stare at Q, lines deepening on its forehead. “You made a dream simulator for me?”

Q swallows. The unit’s face is close again—too close. Q can see every shade of its perfect blue eyes. “Well… yes, I just thought. You mentioned you couldn’t sleep and I know it’s not the same, but—”

“Thank you,” it says, face soft and voice to match. Q smiles, the nervous sensation in his stomach fading away.

“I don’t know if it’ll work yet, but—”

The unit kisses him. It’s so unexpected, Q freezes. 007 pulls back instantly, uncertainly crumpling its face. It moves back, but Q’s recovered enough to go with him, to step back into its space. To be the one to catch its lips this time.

And the unit responds as it always does to being kissed, arm coming around to pull him close, hand cradling the back of his head. The feeling of safety is the same too, even if Q doesn’t want to admit that he feels that way—the gentle way its fingers hold him. He’s fairly sure the protection algorithms were the best choice he made when it came to the unit.

He doesn’t even care that he’s kissing an android—that he’s clearly falling for the unit. Nobody has to know. It’s just here, just between them. Comfort and a warm body, someone to watch bad telly with and share a cat. No reason to reject all of that just because the unit isn’t human, that he’s technically a tool created by his own hand.

The kisses feel real, the hand sliding beneath his shirt even more so. The cock pressing into his thigh. It’s good enough.

\--

It’s easy enough to keep up the illusion. The unit is attentive, a generous bed partner. Because it’s programmed to use a partner’s sexual satisfaction as a means to an end—and although it has nothing to gain from sex with Q, the programming holds.

Besides which, 007 has no desires of its own to satisfy, which is something Q still can’t quite grasp.

He still doesn’t know what to do with his hands, although the unit solves that problem, as it grips his wrists gently and backs him carefully against the wall. It’s the same way Q held it the last time they had sex. And it seems to understand Q might like it as well.  

But it asks anyway, “You like that?” The rough voice is as arousing as it always is.

Q’s fingers flex as he nods. It’s easier this way, easier to simply open to the kiss, to arch his neck when the lips move to his neck. To let his hips move of their own accord as they seek friction.

But 007 doesn’t hold him like that for long, moves his hands to Q’s face, to angle his head for a deeper kiss; it seems to favor that method of kissing. Not that Q minds. Q likes the way its thumbs trace his cheekbones. The kisses as they move down his body, the unit making quick work of buttons before dropping to its knees to nuzzle his erection.

It’s easier to figure out where to put his hands once the blowjob begins—it’s just instinct that makes him hold the unit’s head, to guide the movements as he groans. As soon as he touches him, 007 lifts its eyes, and it takes his breath, the bright warmth that he knows shouldn’t mean so much to him. But it does and there’s no point of denying it in the privacy of his own thoughts so he lets it fill him, lets it curl his toes as he smiles at the unit he created before he closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of wet lips and tongue around his cock.

\--

He doesn’t really know what to do once the unit swallows his cum. But his hands are still braced against its head and 007 is looking up at him again, waiting for something. A signal perhaps… or a compliment. Witty banter, most likely since that was programmed as part of its sexual repertoire.

Usually Q rolls away and busies himself with a shower or clothes, but that’s a little more difficult leaning against the wall with the unit still on its knees. Q’s legs are wobbly and speaking feels impossible, so he rubs the pads of his fingers against the bristly scalp, without thinking about it.

Another instinctual reaction that brings warmth to the unit’s eyes—although how that works with nothing but metal and polymers beneath, Q has no idea. 007 smiles as he puts Q’s pants and trousers back to rights and straightens so their faces are level once more.

And Q can’t help himself. He wants to kiss him, wants to feel another body against his own. The unit is warm, hands caressing his face as their mouths move lazily. It doesn’t matter that it’s not flesh and blood; it’s everything kissing Peter and David wasn’t.

Exactly like kissing someone he cares about. Even if his hands don’t know quite where to latch on. Tentative at the unit’s waist, but that just makes it pull Q closer. It isn’t programmed for this, not to want physical contact when the sex is finished, when the objective has been reached.

007 doesn’t seem to care that it’s not programmed to participate in the after. Q shivers as its mouth moves, soft against his jaw. Tentative where it should be cocky. Maybe something is off in the unit’s seduction algorithms. Maybe they should choose a mission where he can test them out.

He’ll think about that later. Later when 007 isn’t kissing the hinge of his jaw. It takes a moment to realise it’s kissing his moles, moving along in way that can only be deliberate. Not missing a single one.

Q’s fingers tighten where they hold its waist and the unit hums softly. From a human partner it would be a noise of approval, so Q curls his palm tighter and arches his neck to let 007’s lips treat the moles there as well.


	12. Fuel for the Flames

Encouraging Q to initiate touch is not as difficult as 007 once surmised. As long as they’re engaged in sexual activities, it’s simply a matter of distracting him long enough that his hands wander.

It’s more difficult to gauge Q’s desires when it comes to touching outside of sex. He startles the first time 007 touches him, in the morning while he’s making tea. Just a palm against his lower back as the unit comes to stand beside him. 007 withdraws immediately, with a quiet, “Sorry.”

He watches Q’s throat as he swallows. His voice is scratchy, “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.” He turns his head, smiles in a way that is meant to encourage but Q’s tells are more obvious than anyone’s.

“You’re nervous.”

His lips lift, which is encouraging enough that 007 moves close to his side again, but he doesn’t touch. “It’s just… this… I didn’t expect it.” He makes a vague gesture, which seems to refer to both of them and clears his throat when the unit remains silent. “You can touch me. Not at the office, but here… if you like.”

“You’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable?”

A genuine smile, one that affects his eyes as well; the lines at the corners deepen. “I won’t be.”

And since the offer’s been given, 007 touches his face. Q’s eyelids flutter. He especially likes this kind of touch, the unit’s thumb caressing the hinge of his jaw. “Are kisses permissible as well?”

A soft laugh and even softer, “Yes.” He pulls back before the unit can kiss him though. “But only here. Not—”

“At headquarters,” 007 agrees. “I know. You’re repeating yourself…”

Q leans in. “I do that when I’m nervous… “

Their mouths meet, just a quiet press of lips, no intention toward sex. Q is scheduled for a meeting in less than an hour. And the unit has already taken care of his morning erection. This is a different kiss altogether.

One that 007 would like to repeat as often as Q will allow.

He’s smiling when he pulls away to return his meticulous attention to the tea. And this time, when the unit touches his back, he doesn’t startle.

\--

“Do you think she’s cold?” Q asks, tucking Felix more securely into his coat.

The unit smiles at the question, but answers in a serious tone, “Your coat is warm.”

“Yes, but she’s still so thin.”

“She would rather be cold, I think,” 007 says, “then alone in the flat.”

Q knows the unit’s right. Felix definitely doesn’t like to be alone. But who can blame her, after spending god knows how long trapped in a wall?

“Shall I take her?” 007 asks. “I can regulate my temperature more effectively than you can,” he explains.

“Oh. Yes, all right.” Q gives him the cat and she’s immediately tucked close to the unit’s chest, exactly like she was the night it brought her to Q’s flat. She seems at home there, content to watch the world over the lapel of 007’s pea coat.

The unit is watching him with a smile when he lifts his eyes and Q smiles as well. Can’t help himself. He still can’t believe it brought him a cat, and even less that it responds so well to her, some of those protective instincts for her as well.

“Where would you like to go?” 007 asks.

They only have two hours before Q has to be back at work. The unit, as well, since he apparently agreed to help Ronson get fit for duty, after his long recovery.  

“Just to the bridge, I think,” Q says, judging the distance. “Bit difficult to take a cat to a shop.”

“I’ll wait outside,” the unit volunteers.

Q laughs. “No, it’s fine. I like the way the water looks in the cold. But hold tight to Felix.”

007 looks mildly offended at the warning. “I’m hardly going to allow her to jump into the river.”

“Good, because cats don’t like water. Most of them anyway.”

The unit’s amused look is another one to smile about. They continue on their way, and when they have to pause for traffic, 007 puts a hand on his arm as though afraid he’ll walk straight into a bus. Q doesn’t say anything, simply allows the protection algorithms to do their work.

But as they wait for the cars to pass, 007’s palm skims down his arm and takes Q’s hand, fingers curling around his as though it’s natural between them. Q can’t help but stare at their tangled hands.

“Is this all right?” the unit asks. Q looks up, but his expression isn’t worried. Just curious. Q’s fingers flex against its palm. It’s easy to forget it’s synthetic skin. And although, technically, Q did say touching could only happen in his flat, there’s no one to see them, out here on the pavement.

So Q squeezes his fingers and they cross the street together, hand in hand.

\--

“How’s that?” Q asks, squinting over at 007. It responds with a frown of concentration. “Nothing?”

“No,” it murmurs, head tilting slightly in an uncanny imitation of Felix when she hears something interesting. Q bites back a smile. “Give me a moment…”

They’re working on the dream algorithms, as they have been during most of Q’s free time during the last week. They’re in the lab at the moment, so Q’s being careful not to stand too close.

The unit touching him has become something of a habit. Much like the fucking, but of course that’s easier to avoid at work than the casual touches, which 007 seems determined to heap upon him at every opportunity.

It’s probably something Q programmed unconsciously, or perhaps it’s the seduction algorithms working their way into the ones governing his personality. Or possibly even the ones responsible for the protective instinct it has for Q, although that seems less likely. Unless the unit happened upon an article about humans’ need for touch. Which would explain a lot, actually…

“The program is running through my memory banks,” 007 interrupts his thoughts. “Out of order…”

The pinched confusion on its face makes Q laugh, and that in turn brings mischief to its blue eyes. He steps closer and Q’s face tips up the bare centimetre needed for their eyes to meet in automatic response. “What?” it demands with amusement.

“Nothing,” Q assures him. “You look like Felix when you do that,” he admits in response to the quirked eyebrow. “When you’re confused.”

007 blinks. “I look like a cat?”

“A bit.”

The unit doesn’t understand the humour, but it’s just as well since R chooses that moment to step into the lab. “Here are the blueprints you wanted.” She sets the long tube on one of the cluttered benches. “Oh, and Jensen wants to see you when you have a moment. Something about an equipment malfunction.”

Q sighs. “I’m on my way.” He follows R out of the lab, and the unit follows him. It’s a habit that seems to have stuck; not that Q minds.

“Those were the blueprints for my matrices,” it says as they walk.

“M asked me to make another unit,” Q explains, not a bit surprised that it was able to decipher the encrypted code on the tube’s cap. “In lieu of allowing Mallory to study you.”

“You’re building another unit?” There’s surprise in the unit’s voice. In his expression as well when Q glances over.

“I told her I would consider it.”

The unit’s eyebrows peak, an acknowledgement.

“It seemed like a better choice than giving you to Mallory.”

“Mm.”

Q can’t decide whether or not that’s a sarcastic hum, but Jensen is waiting, impatient as always. Tapping pointedly at his expensive watch, actually. Reluctantly, Q gives him his attention.

\--

“Relax your shoulder,” 007 says to Ronson. The tension in his muscles is normal after an injury.

“I feel like I haven’t moved in months,” Ronson sighs as he dutifully rolls the shoulder and relaxes his stance.

“You’ll be fine once you remember how to hold a gun.”

Ronson grins over his shoulder, responding as expected to the light mockery. “Why don’t you come over here and demonstrate?”

He’s flirting, something that comes naturally to him, as it does to most of the agents. He’s probably not even aware he’s doing it. And although the unit is programmed to respond to flirting, it curbs the instinct. There’s nothing to be gained from flirtations with him. He isn’t an informant, he doesn’t require it to keep in good favour, and he isn’t Q.

007 chooses a smile that is intended to invite friendly competition instead and lines up his shot. The bullet lands right between the target’s eyes and the unit raises an eyebrow as he turns to Ronson once more. “Like that?”

Laughing, Ronson lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, you’re allowed to rib me all you want. I don’t know why I’m surprised you can outshoot me. You did save my life, after all.”

“Well worth the effort,” the unit tells him. No harm in winning further favour. Ronson looks pleased to hear it.

“Have any tips?” he asks, checking the unit’s stance before copying it carefully. Feet placed wider than the hips, shoulders high but without the tension he was wearing earlier.

The unit is programmed for accuracy and precision, not to mention it has visual acuity far outside the range of possibility for a human. None of which is particularly helpful to Ronson.

Dryly, it advises, “Try not to get shot so you won’t forget how to hold your gun.”

Smiling, Ronson takes aim, makes a perfectly respectable shot.

“Drop your shoulder a bit,” the unit suggests, moving closer to nudge it into better position and then staying just behind to watch. Ronson murmurs gratitude, rolls his neck and shoots the target through its nose.

“Well done,” a new voice interrupts. It’s M, with Q beside her. 007 smiles when their eyes meet. The echoing smile is slow to slot into place.  

In lieu of asking him what’s wrong, the unit steps out from behind Ronson’s back and crosses the mat.

“You’re recovering well,” M is saying to Ronson, waiting for him to come to her.

“Thanks to 007. Add teaching to his list of skills.”

M glances at the unit, appraising. Most likely calculating the possible value of adding the unit into the rotation of trainers when it’s not in the field.

“Training recruits would be a good way to fill my time between missions,” it says, deciding to encourage her toward the correct choice. She looks to Q. Q is studying Ronson, perhaps already considering his words.

“Is it a viable option, Q?” she asks.

“Either that or you can assign him as my permanent partner,” Ronson suggests with his typical grin. He is far more cheerful than most of the other agents. Even if his suggestion isn’t likely to be given any consideration. The unit is far too valuable to use on the easier missions the agent is assigned.

“I think teaching would be a far better use of 007’s time,” Q says, his tone more quelling than it needs to be. To M he says, “I have no objections.”

“We’ll discuss it when it returns from South Africa.”

“I’m going to South Africa?”

The question was directed to Q, but it’s M who answers, “With Agent Carter.”

“Carter?”

Q smiles a little. “Is something wrong with your auditory processors?” He’s teasing, obviously and 007 allows a small smile as well.

“I’m simply surprised.”

“We’ll discuss it as we walk. M,” he says respectfully. He’s turning away before the unit can question him further. 007 catches him easily, after a polite nod for M and a farewell for Ronson.

“I’m assigned to Carter?” it picks up the conversation right where they left off. “Is that really necessary?”

A curious glance as they wind through the corridors to Q-Branch. “You don’t want a mission?”

“Yes, of course I do. It’s been long enough since the last. I’m just surprised I’m being partnered with an agent again.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think it’s necessary at this point.”

“Hm, I think once more, at least.”

007 frowns. “I’ve been on four partnered missions. And the last, if you remember, didn’t work out very well.”

“Mills has been duly reprimanded,” Q points out. “You won’t be partnered with her again. Carter—”

“Has only been on one solo mission, during which he was nearly killed.”

“Then you’re being along can only help.” Q smiles, obviously believing the conversation has reached its end. 007, however, hasn’t finished attempting to persuade him.

“It isn’t necessary. I’m ready to be on my own.”

Q sighs. “M doesn’t agree.”

“This is M’s idea? Since when do you allow M to make decisions about my progress?” He never has before.

Q stops walking and 007 stops as well, both of them turning to face one another in the middle of the corridor. Q glances at a curious passerby before saying in a low voice, “I want to be certain you’ve had as much training as possible before I send you off on your own.”

Frown more pronounced, the unit asks, “Is this a symptom of your usual worries, or do you have specific concerns?”

“You simply haven’t had enough experience—”

“I have the combined—”

“Yes, I know,” Q says impatiently. “I was the one who downloaded all of those experiences, you know. One more successful partnered mission,” he adds in a tone he often uses with his staff, “and then I’ll clear you to be on your own.”

A sigh seems to be the most appropriate response, but the unit isn’t inclined toward capitulation anymore than Q seems to be.

“If you really think it’s necessary,” it says, choosing a persuasive tone, “then at least give me a different agent. Someone from whom I might actually learn something.”

Q’s frown is growing more pronounced. He doesn’t appreciate arguing, which the unit knows very well. But the argument is a solid one, perfectly reasonable to request a different partner.

“The other agents are allowed a voice in their assignments.”

“Yes, but you’re…”

007 raises an eyebrow. “Not a real agent?”

Q sighs, “Who would you choose?”

It’s with a frown of discontent that 007 answers, “Grey and Canbury are both competent.”

Q studies his face for a moment. “Grey has already left for the airport. Canbury leaves in the morning. I’ll send him a message.”

Gratitude is the expected response. “Thank you.”

Nodding, Q leads the way into Q-Branch, along to his bench where he begins opening files. His jaw is taut, which is usually a sign of irritation. Perhaps pressing him wasn’t a wise choice.

Even if there is no real reason he should be upset by the negotiation. He expects it from all of the other agents. But the unit isn’t like the other agents, which is exactly what Q was going to say before the unit interrupted him.

“If you would prefer to assign me to Carter,” 007 says quietly, “I won’t object.”

Q turns his head. The tension is draining from his shoulders. “No, it’s fine. Canbury is a better choice. And you were right. The other agents are allowed some choice in their assignments.”

007’s expression relaxes into a smile, and so does Q’s. He shakes his head, amusement replacing the irritation fully as he goes back to his screen. “You’re easy to please, aren’t you?” he says as his fingers play over the tabletop workspace.

The unit knows it’s a rhetorical question, but it answers anyway, “I’ll be even more pleased when you let me out on my own.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Q mutters, but there’s no real annoyance in the tone. 007 ignores the urge to touch him and instead moves closer to his side. “Do you really want to teach the new recruits?” he asks after a moment. “Or were you just making conversation?”

“It would be a productive use of my time.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t agree?”

“It’s just not something I ever considered. You’re not programmed to be a teacher.” Q pauses to glance over his shoulder. “R, send a message to Lynd. Her flight is delayed by an hour.” Q stretches across the table to examine another set of screens, fingers still busy with the first. “But then I never properly considered what you would do when you weren’t on a mission. I intended to deactivate you during the interim.” He says the words with a smile, but the unit doesn’t return it. “I won’t,” Q says quickly. He reaches toward the unit, but stops before making contact. “Teaching will keep you busy. I’ll develop a new set of algorithms for you.”

“There’s no need.”

Q’s head tilts, eyes bright with undisguised warmth. He does look at the cat that way as well. “You don’t know anything about teaching.”

“I’ll learn.”

Lines appear between Q’s eyes, surprise and contemplation. But after a moment he nods. “We can draw up a schedule when you return from Shanghai. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent teacher.”

The observation is sincerely meant, said with a soft smile. The desire to touch him is strong again, the algorithms allotted toward protection overwhelming the rest of the unit’s program. The parameters about touching that Q has set seem unimportant, ridiculous.

He moves in another two centimetres, as close as possible while still technically not touching. Q smiles at him. “Want to take over Trevlyn’s line? He’s in—”

“Baghdad,” the unit finishes for him. “Happy to.”

“I forget you can monitor everything,” Q says as he switches the feed to the unit’s internal radio. “If only I could do that for all the agents. It would certainly make my job easier.”

“I can help whenever you need it.”

“Thanks.” Q’s elbow touches his in a way that can only be deliberate. It’s far less than the unit would prefer, but it’s far more than he expected so he stays right where he is as he pulls up Trevlyn’s mission profile.

\--

Yawning, Q rubs his eyes. They’ve been monitoring for hours, and he’s more than ready to go home. Just as soon as Trevlyn reaches the rendezvous point.  

“I’ll make sure he gets there,” the unit tells him, in the quiet voice it often uses when Q has been working for too long. It’s meant to be both soothing and persuasive; which it is. And honestly, an artificial intelligence that doesn’t need to sleep is far better equipped at this point to keep Trevlyn safe than he is.

“You’ll wake me if you need anything?”

007 gives him look that can only be called withering. Smiling, Q goes into his office to settle on the couch.

He wakes up with Felix on his chest, takes a moment to enjoy the warmth as he squints at his watch to get his bearings. He’s been asleep for a very respectable two hours, although 007 probably won’t agree it’s enough.

“Shall we find him?” he asks the cat. She’s awake and purring contentedly.

“Find whom?”

Q starts at the unexpected voice, nearly dislodging the cat. But she has claws and she uses them to great effect in his jumper. Wincing, he sits up, eyes finally adjusting to see 007 working at the desk instead of in the main room.

“What are you doing?” he asks, still a bit groggy.

“Your assistants are still wary of me. Especially the ones who regularly work the night shift.”

“They don’t see you as often.”

“Perhaps you should rotate their shifts.”

Q smiles at the perfectly serious tone and sets the cat on the desk so she can greet 007. He smiles at her and reaches out to pet her as soon as she’s close enough. “I told you she likes you.”

“So it seems.” The murmured words are directed at Felix more than Q and that seems like a fairly good indication that the unit doesn’t mind her affections. “Who were you looking for?” 007 asks, lifting his eyes as the petting continues.

“You.”

“And here I am.” 007 gives Felix another gentle scratch before moving around the desk. “The door is locked,” he says, confusing Q for a second but then he realises how close it’s standing, and the way it’s looking at his lips. Q sways forward instinctively and 007 meets him for a kiss.

It’s slow, unhurried, but the kind of kiss that could definitely lead somewhere. Like to fucking against the desk. Or on the couch. Neither of which they’ve tried before. And if they were at his flat, Q wouldn’t hesitate. He lets the unit pull him closer, his own hand sliding up its back to run the pads of his fingers over the bristly hair at the back of its neck.

So easy to forget.

“Is it because you startled me?” Q asks against the soft lips when the kisses wind down.  

“Mm?” A quiet hum, the unit’s lips still working against his own, as though it would prefer kisses to conversation and Q has no idea where it learned to do that. He lets the question rest for a few more minutes.

“Is that why you wanted to kiss me?” he finally asks when the unit moves along to his jaw. “An extension of your protection algorithms…” He’s not sure that makes sense, but he’s started to get hard from the attention of the unit’s lips, and the hand which is sliding beneath his jumper.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since you agreed to let me teach.”

Q sucks in a breath as teeth graze the soft skin beneath his ear. “Oh.” That doesn’t seem to have anything to do with… protection… but possibly he’ll sort it out later. 007 is walking him backward, can obviously tell he’s aroused. “We probably shouldn’t…” He bumps the wall. “… do this here…”

The unit lifts his head, confusion in its eyes. “But the door is locked. And I told Rawlins not to let anyone in,” it says, breathless as though it’s just as aroused as Q. It doesn’t help the state of Q’s cock in the least.

“I’ll be quiet,” he agrees gruffly. Smiling, 007 dips his head again, fingers deftly unbuckling Q’s belt. Thinking the unit is going to blow him, he’s surprised when it pulls open its own belt. Surprise turns to a groan of appreciation as the unit gathers both of their dicks together.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, head thunking against the wall as his eyes close.

Warm breath against his cheek. “Good?”

“Fuck, yes. Shit, how did you...”

“Does it matter?” 007 asks, gruff against his ear and Q’s cock throbs in response.

“No,” he breathes and gives himself over to sensation, and for whatever else the unit might have learned how to do.

\--

“May I ask why?” the unit asks in a polite tone but its jaw is taut, Q notes. M considers him, still surprised that it chooses to address her instead of allowing Q be its mouthpiece.

“Carter needs the experience,” she says. “And he’s eager to accompany you.”

“But isn’t the point to evaluate if I’m ready to be on my own?”

M frowns. “Q cleared you for solo missions.”

Q grimaces as the unit turns to look at him. M turns as well. “Q?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quickly, avoiding the unit’s scrutinizing gaze. “We haven’t discussed it yet, but yes.”

“Then, the plan to send it with Carter stands,” she says. “It will be a good opportunity to see if teaching is something it can do as well.”

“I’m sure he won’t have any problems,” Q says quickly. “Everything’s just as it should be. I’ll send for Carter.”

“He’s just completing his medical evaluations,” Tanner interjects helpfully. “I’m going that way if you want me to send him down here.”

“Thank you,” Q murmurs.

While Tanner goes on his way, 007 turns to M. “If I’m cleared for solo missions, I would prefer to go on my own.”

“007—”

“The assignment doesn’t require two agents,” it adds, ignoring Q’s attempt to intercede. “I’ll be more efficient on my own.”

“Ronson suggested you be allowed to train other agents,” she says.

“During a simpler assignment, absolutely.”

“This one should be relatively—”

“It’s too important,” 007 interrupts calmly, but even so M looks startled to be interrupted. “I should go on my own. Perhaps another agent could train Carter—”

“007, Stand down,” Q orders and the unit’s mouth closes, its hands falling to its sides. He frowns, but Q ignores that surprise and says firmly, “Carter is going with you.”

“It takes after you,” M says, her amusement not bringing a smile to Q’s face. He ushers M toward the door, reassuring here that all is well although she doesn’t look particularly alarmed.

As soon she’s out the door, the unit asks, “Did you program me with a safe word?”

“A what?”

“ _007, stand down_ ,” the unit repeats, an unexpected mimicry of Q’s tone. “Did you program me to respond to that phrase—as an override to make me stop doing whatever I’m doing?”

“I…” Q sighs. “I did, yes—”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“You were arguing with M—”

“All of the agents argue with M. _You_ argue with M.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” the unit demands. “Because I’m not human?”

Q frowns in confusion. “It isn’t that. I just… I did it without thinking.”

“Because I’m not human,” 007 repeats. “You couldn’t order anyone else to be silent.”

“I would have reprimanded any other agent,” Q says, his tone sharpening. “And any one of my staff—”

“They’re not programmed to be silenced with one command.”

“They’re not programmed at all! You said yourself you realise you’re not human.”

“Yes, I do,” 007 says flatly. “And you said it’s easy to forget I’m not. Except when it’s convenient for you to remember. When I’m not doing exactly what you want me to do. ”

“I don’t do that. I haven’t deactivated you since you mislead me about your mission with Lynd.”

“But you could have,” the unit says, voice sharp. “You could have and I couldn’t have done anything to stop you. You can obliterate me with one command and I couldn’t do anything about that either.”

Q stares at him, shocked. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“As long as I do exactly what you expect—”

“Most of what you do is completely unexpected, and I haven’t stopped you, have I? You don’t like being deactivated so I stopped deactivating you. You said you want to try teaching recruits and I agreed. Even when you wanted to practice sex—”

“You enjoyed that.”

Q ignores the heat in his cheeks and says, “But it’s not something I would usually do with the artificial intelligence I built.”

“Then why do you continue to do it?” the unit asks, bordering on demand as he narrows his eyes. “I think you would agree I no longer need the practice.”

“No,” Q stumbles over the word, taken off guard by the blunt question. “I know, but—”

“I don’t experience sexual pleasure. Clearly, the sex isn’t for my benefit.”

Q swallows, caught by the accusation in the unit’s eyes. “I…”

“You enjoy it,” 007 says again, arms crossing his chest as he studies Q’s face. He no longer looks angry but Q finds it difficult to keep his gaze. “You enjoy the rest of it as well. Watching rubbish telly with me, walking around Piccadilly Circus and playing with the cat. You enjoy all of it.”

“You’re right,” Q says once he can talk without warbling; it still comes out in a scratch. “I just…”

“You want to have a relationship with me, but you don’t want to acknowledge I’m anything more than one of your tools.”

The words feel like sharp edges, wedged in Q’s chest. He takes a step toward the unit, but can’t make his feet go any further. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

“You branded me,” the unit reminds him. “How could you possibly forget I’m one of your tools?”

“That’s not…” Q doesn’t know how to explain. He doesn’t understand half of the things he does since he activated him. “You’re acting out parts of your program. Responding to me because I programmed you to.”

“Why should that matter?”

“I don’t know,” Q says, throat aching. “But it does.”

“Because you can’t think of me as anything other than a machine.”

His expression is one of hurt, even though Q shouldn’t be able to hurt him. And Q’s chest shouldn’t tighten just thinking that he might have. “I don’t mean to upset you.”

“You haven’t.”

It’s automatic, an utter lie as the hurt expression falls away. Q’s smile feels lopsided. “You lie to protect me too. Everything you do… I programmed you to do all of it.”

“You programmed me to think for myself.”

“I know I did.” Q shakes his head, but it’s too difficult to articulate; too complicated.

“I’m responding to my environment,” 007 tells him, voice quiet and soothing now, attempting to comfort and doing very well. “To you.”

“But I feel like I programmed you to… to protect me, for one. You shouldn’t feel any special draw to take care of me, but you do.”

“I don’t feel coerced,” 007 says seriously. “If that helps.”

It doesn’t really, but Q pretends it does. Smiles and the unit’s smile is the entire reason it doesn’t help. He smiles as well, responding like a mirror image. A vicious cycle, except it’s not vicious. It makes Q want to kiss him. To feel its strong arms around him again.

“And if you feel the need to… have sex with me. You can’t feel any sexual pleasure, as you said, so if it’s some extension of your need to take care of me—”

“It isn’t. I enjoy it.”

“But—”

“Having sex with Vesper was different,” the unit cuts in quietly. “And not because she’s a woman,” it says, eyes amused as it guesses exactly what Q was going to say. “I like having sex with you. I like being close to you.”

“You said it… wasn’t for your benefit.”

The unit purses its lips. “I could have chosen a better way to phrase that.”

Q doesn’t really understand. But he says quietly, “I’ll try to do better.” Because it sounds like something he should say. But it’s not quite right, he can see. The unit is frowning. “I don’t think of you as one of my tools.”

007 nods, his expression thoughtful.

“What are you thinking about?” Q asks.

“Do you consider us to be in a romantic relationship?”

“I…” The muted expectation on the unit’s face decides the answer. “Yes, I think so.”

007’s smile is like sunlight, and the urge to walk straight into his arms is overwhelming.

Before he can, 007 says, “My research has shown humans often engage in make up sex after an argument.”  

Q laughs softly as he steps toward the unit, and he’s immediately folded into its arms. “You’ve been researching human coupling rituals?” he mutters into its neck, right over the place where he can hear the echo of its mechanical heart.

“My inability to sleep leaves me ample time,” 007 says, pulling him in securely. “And I thought it might be helpful.”

“I’ll finish the dream algorithms as soon as I can.”

“You don’t have to,” it assures him, nose pressing into his cheek; nuzzling, really; it shouldn’t be possible but it is. “It’s enough that you thought of it.”

It wouldn’t be for anyone else.

**\--**

007 hovers over Q, the first time it’s been allowed to do so. He’s on his back against the mattress, acquiescing as soon as the unit murmured against his ear, “I want to explore your body.”

He’s naked, cock already erect as 007 slowly kisses down his chest. Taking time to note every mark on his skin. He has a small birthmark on his left pectoral. No distinguishable shape, but the unit traces it, drawing its tongue lightly over it before moving over to his nipple.

It’s drawn up tight. Very carefully, 007 puts his mouth around it, listening for a reaction. Raises his eyes when Q sucks in a breath. He’s watching the proceedings, fingers restless against the sheets.

“You can touch me,” the unit says.

It seems those are the words it should have been using all along. Q’s palm moves to its bicep, skimming up and down while the other hand settles against 007’s head. Cradling gently, as though he’s afraid the unit might break. It smiles before going back to Q’s nipple; the other one as well.

Q likes the attention, body stretching tight and hips lifting off the bed. His cock would probably like the same attentions. Giving Q blowjobs is gratifying. This time even more so as he runs his fingers through 007’s hair, scratching lightly at its synthetic scalp.

And since Q’s legs are bent, the unit slides its fingers just behind his balls, alert for any discomfort—or dissent. But Q is panting, eyes bright as he stares at the unit.

007 runs its thumb along the seam of his arse, prodding gently and Q’s legs draw farther apart; an instinct perhaps. “Is this all right?” the unit asks, just to be certain. Unsteadily, Q nods.

“You can fuck me,” he says, voice deeply aroused. “If you want.”

The unit smiles, bordering on smirk. “Do _you_ want me to?” it counters, voice full of amusement and teasing. It moves its thumb and watches Q’s mouth open, the way he licks his lips.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Just… go slow. It’s… been awhile.”

The unit knows very well how to prepare a man for penetration, has researched it extensively. It moves back up Q’s body, smiling at the confusion on his face. “We’ll go as slow as you like,” it says softly, leaning in to kiss him. And again as he feels Q’s body relax beneath its own.

007 stretches him eventually, going as slow as Q needs, watching every reaction and adjusting accordingly. Waits until Q’s cock is leaking, until three fingers are no longer enough; until he’s thrashing on the bed and begging for more.

So 007 obliges, coats its penis in more lubrication and carefully pushes in, waits with every centimetre for Q to adjust, until he’s asking for more. But once it’s fully inside Q’s body, Q grips the unit’s arse and says gruffly, “Fuck me.”

The unit obliges that as well.

With Q’s legs wrapped around its waist, its body completely surrounding him, the unit’s need to protect increases, nearly overwhelming its neural net. Taking away its ability to speak. 007 fucks him slowly, mesmerized by the way Q pushes into it, by his hands as they glide over its back.

And by Q’s eyes, bright with pleasure as 007 fucks him. And then he’s stretching his neck, looking for a kiss. 007 kisses him deeply, hand wrapping around Q’s cock, following the rhythm of their hips. And when Q comes, his nails score the unit’s arse, urging him closer; insistent.

007 kisses him through it, until the high fades. But Q doesn’t immediately move away.

The kisses move to the unit’s cheek, hands soft as they caress its back, over its arse. “That was perfect,” he mutters. His fingers are moving over the scar on the unit’s hip, the one he used as a signature. Tracing it, the unit realises.

He’s never done that before. “You like it,” it says.

“Hm?”

“Your signature.”

Q’s fingers stop moving abruptly.

“I don’t mind.” 007 kisses the mole on his jaw. Q’s fingers stay where they are, but they’re no longer stroking. The unit simply keeps kissing him, its own fingers making patterns on Q’s hip, in the exact same spot. Q grows quieter beneath him but when the unit checks his face, he’s concentrating; not upset.

Eventually he asks, voice filled with amusement. “Are you writing 0-0-7?”

“Yes.”

Q’s huff is a breath of laughter. And then he’s tracing the signature on the unit’s hip once more.

007 smiles against his skin.

\--

“What is he doing?”

007 follows the direction of Q’s gaze. Silva is standing behind the clear safety partition in the shooting gallery. He isn’t dressed for shooting, and neither does he have a gun. 007 returned to London only this morning, from its latest mission—as successful as the others.

“Admiring the view?” it suggests. Q turns his attention away from Silva. His face is twisted into an expression of distaste.

“I don’t think so.”

Frowning, the unit considers the target, aims for its forehead and squeezes the trigger. Q moves closer to him as the bullets hit their target, which seems to be his standard reaction to gunfire of any kind.

“You know you don’t need the practice,” he says, sounding amused. 007 glances at him, finds an expression to match. The unit doesn’t respond in kind, instead turning back to the target once more.

“I enjoy it.”

Enjoyment isn’t something he feels, technically, but the distinction no longer feels necessary. He shoots three more rounds in succession, by which point Q is nearly pressed against its side. He doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

“Most of the agents find me attractive,” it says, quietly because they’re not alone. “Most people do.”

“I know.”

Amusement, from Q, is usually welcome.

“Eve hasn’t stopped teasing me about it since before I even activated you.”

“Why did you design a new template?” it asks. “Instead of using Boothroyd’s?”

“Honestly,” Q says, discomfort in his expression now, “after what happened, I didn’t want you to look like the 006 unit. I didn’t want to be reminded.”

“So you chose to make me the complete opposite?”

“I don’t think I did it consciously. Boothroyd and I also have very different tastes. He was sort of known for his enjoyment of young lovers.”

Confused, the unit frowns. “Boothroyd created the early templates based on his sexual preferences?”

“I wouldn’t say that to his face,” Q laughs. “But yes, I think so.”

Although it’s the logical conclusion, based on Q’s statements, 007 still hesitates before he asks, “And you created me based on yours?”

Q grimaces as he glances around, but no one is paying them any mind. The other MI6 employees are well used to seeing them together. But Q still moves his body; an illusion of privacy that the unit goes along with. “Again,” Q says quietly, “not consciously.” He frowns as he considers the unit. “Why are you surprised?”

“I didn’t realise you found my face aesthetically pleasing.”

Q is staring. Disbelief is the most prominent emotion on his face, followed by confusion and surprise. Q turns around before the unit can question him. The abrupt movement is unexpected, but 007 follows after him, catching him after three strides. He doesn’t look angry, just determined. He ducks into one of the exam rooms along the corridor—it’s empty.

Q shuts the door behind them.

“Why are we in here?” the unit asks curiously.

“What do you mean, you didn’t realise I found your face aesthetically pleasing?” Q still looks bewildered. “The word is attractive, by the way.”

“I know,” 007 uses the same slightly impatient tone he’s using. “I know you’re aroused by my body, but that’s simply a function of your sexuality.”

“Wait, what?” Q frowns. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself. I wonder…” He steps forward, an involuntary movement, the unit decides. The palm he puts on its chest is less likely to be. “I didn’t realise so much of your programming was unintentionally done…”

He’s thinking aloud. It reminds the unit of the earliest days after its activation. When Q didn’t consider him to be anything more than his weapon.

“You programmed me to form my own conclusions,” 007 uses the words in an attempt to draw him out. It works. Q’s gaze comes up.

“I did. But sometimes… sometimes you say things and it sounds so much like me. Even if I’ve never said them to you.”

“Like what?”

Q shakes his head, dismissing the question. “Maybe Eve was right. Not that it matters…”

He’s talking to himself again but 007 presses, “What was she right about?” It can see Q is considering whether or not to answer.

“My penchant for older men.”

“Neither Peter, nor the man in your bedroom were older than you.”

“But they were convenient.”

“As am I.”

Q smiles. “You’re anything but convenient, 007. But I think you’re beautiful,” he says seriously. “How could I not? I spent four years looking at your face.”

The only way to describe his tone are with words like fond and affectionate. 007 slides forward, leaving little space between them.

“Why would I fuck you if I didn’t find you attractive?” Q asks in the same tone.

“I assumed you were lonely. After your attempts at dating.”

Q’s eyes are bright with amusement. “My attempts?”

Smirking, the unit reminds him, “You weren’t particularly successful.”

Q pokes him in the chest, and the unit catches his wrist. It has only ever held one other person this way. Silva, just before he broke his wrist. But Q doesn’t look frightened or uneasy. He’s smiling, his eyes softer now as they stare at one another. “I _was_ lonely,” he says. “But I only realised it after I activated you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. You and me. It’s not…”

“Normal.”

Q’s face twists. “No, it isn’t. But then, you’re the only artificial intelligence I know of. But that’s not really what I mean. Humans aren’t supposed to become attached to… “

“Machines,” 007 prompts since he still seems to be having difficulty coming to terms with that fact. “I haven’t forgotten I’m a machine.”

“Nor have I.”

“Would you like to?”

“No,” Q says with a smile, “but it certainly would make things easier if you weren’t.” He kisses the unit before it can reply. A reply no longer matters, not when it has Q so close. 007 is still holding his wrist, while Q’s other hand slides over its cheek and behind its head.

It can feel Q’s heartbeat as they kiss, noting as it accelerates and wonders what it might be like not to have to feign arousal or excitement.


	13. Strike a Match

“ _Now_ , it’s finally ready to leave the nest,” Eve says from where she sits beside Q at the table in one of the larger conference rooms. The rest of the heads of each division are gathered along its length.

Q spares her a smile.

Tanner is speaking, something that both of them should be listening to, but Q is preoccupied with thoughts of the unit’s first mission—and apparently, so is Eve. 007 is downstairs in the lower levels, with Ronson and Lynd, both of whom seem to enjoy its company far more than Q thought possible; Ronson especially.

But despite the twist in his stomach the last time Q saw them together, in the shooting gallery, he doesn’t think the unit is planning to ask him for sex practice. It said it was beyond that point, after all.

And Q isn’t going to make a fuss if he does. He might if the unit were human. But since it’s not…

“Are you nervous?” Eve asks at a whisper.

“Of course,” he whispers right back and she grins. The meeting lasts another forty minutes and then they’re both waylaid.

“You’re certain it’s ready?” M asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

She considers him, not disbelieving him exactly. But the unit did argue with her, and he doesn’t think she quite understands just how individuated it’s become. They spoke about it already, but she’s obviously still concerned. “It will follow all mission protocol,” he repeats his earlier reassurances. “It won’t deviate.”

“And if it does?”

“I have control over its program,” he reminds her. “I can take over if I need to.”

It seems a testament to her trust in him that she accepts that.   He waits for Eve to finish her conversation with Tanner and then they go downstairs together, but 007 is no longer with Lynd and Ronson.

He’s speaking with Silva at the far end of the room.

“What’s that about?” Eve wonders aloud, but Q doesn’t know so he leaves her with the other agents and crosses the mats. The unit’s back is to him so Silva sees him first, smiles in that ingratiating way that seems to come so naturally to him.

007 turns its head, smiles when it meets Q’s gaze. It says something to Silva and walks toward him. He doesn’t look upset or disturbed in any way but Q still frowns. It doesn’t help that Silva is just behind, still smiling.

“How was your meeting?” the unit asks.

“Fine,” Q says shortly. To Silva, he says, “Do you need something?”

“007 and I were just catching up. We haven’t spoken in such a long time.”

“Because you were told to stay away from him.”

“Was I? I thought it was the other way round. After all, it did break my wrist. But that won’t happen again, will it? It isn’t capable of harming agents. Or anyone in MI6’s employ?”

“No, it isn’t,” Q lies. M still doesn’t know the truth about that one, so Silva certainly isn’t going to.

“And we all feel much safer,” Silva says, still smiling.

Having no inclination to continue the conversation, Q reminds him, “You’re due to leave for Montreal in the morning. R has your equipment ready.”

Silva dips his head, a perfect imitation of someone with manners. “I’ll report to her immediately.”

Q pastes on a smile. Silva takes no notice. He turns to the unit. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon. Perhaps, make up for our last encounter?”

007’s smile is polite, without employment of its flirting algorithms as he agrees, “Perhaps.”

Q frowns at the back of his head as he walks away and then turns to the unit. “What did he want?”

“He asked me about my next mission.”

“You haven’t been given your assignment yet.”

“I told him as much.” 007 steps toward him, but doesn’t make any attempt to touch him as his voice drops, “I didn’t threaten him.”

Q’s frown deepens. “What?”

“You’re upset.”

“Not because I was afraid you would hurt him,” Q says; squeezes his arm to reassure. “I just don’t like him. Are you sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have?”

The unit smiles. “Like propositioning me again?”

“I may forget to code his gun properly if he does.” But it’s impossible not to smile when the unit looks so pleased. Pleased that Q would suggest putting Silva in danger in retaliation. It should worry him, but it doesn’t. Not this time.

“Shall I give the same message to Vesper?”

Q glances back to Lynd. She’s spotting Ronson as he lifts weights. “Lynd? Why?”

“She propositioned me as well.”

“Oh.” Feeling like he’s been punched, Q breathes shakily, “No. No, you don’t need to give the same message. I have to…” But he can’t think of anything so he mutters, “I’ll be back,” before turning away.

He doesn’t even know where he’s going, but he keeps walking. Down the corridor, winding through the labyrinth until he finds an empty storage room; full of boxes and dusty tables. He’s lost his mind.

He’s jealous. He’s jealous that his artificial intelligence wants to fuck Lynd again. He was jealous the first time too. He’s not oblivious enough not to recognize he already felt like this. This crushing weight in his chest when he found the unit half naked in her suite.

Some of the best sex she’s ever had with a man, Eve told her. How many other people will proposition the unit? Lynd isn’t even the first.

Leiter did as well, before he left.

And Q felt just as awful about that.

“I’m insane,” he mutters as he paces in the cramped space. “I’m insane.”

“You’re not insane.”

It’s Eve, eyeing him with caution as she closes the door. Because he’s insane.

“I’m fucking an android,” Q says hoarsely. “I’m fucking an android that I created. I’m jealous of Lynd because she fucked it too. I’m jealous of Ronson because he wanted to fuck the android I created. I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not,” she says calmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong—”

“I _haven’t_?” he echoes, laughing breathlessly. “I’m fucking a machine. I told him we’re in a relationship. With an artificial intelligence! What the hell am I _doing_?” He stops walking abruptly and slumps against the desk. “I can’t do this.”

“Then don’t.”

Q stares at her. “Don’t?” He wants to laugh again but his chest aches. “That’s your advice?”

“No, my advice would be to stop worrying about the fact that you love an android and let yourself be happy, but I don’t think you’ll take it.”

“I’m not in love with him,” he protests. “I’m not.”

“Okay,” she says agreeably, when in fact it’s clear she doesn’t believe him at all. “But you should still let yourself be happy.”

Q drops his head, stares at the blue lines in his trousers, but they’re no help.

“You know, he sent me in here.”

Q lifts his head. “He did?”

“He’s worried about you. And he thought you would prefer to see me.”

Grimacing, Q glances at the door, but of course he can’t see the unit. It’s probably pacing in front of the door. “I think I did this,” he says, voice scratchy but swallowing through it doesn’t help. “Programmed it to do all of this. Just like you said. I like older men who take care of me. It explains its overactive protective instinct toward me. And the fucked up part? I didn’t even realise I was doing it.”

He swallows again as he drops his head, hands clenching and unclenching against his thighs. He was so proud of the work he did. Four long years, millions of dollars and instead of a lethal assassin, he created a boyfriend. “Fuck,” he says miserably, to no one in particular; to himself. To the four years.

Eve sits beside him. She nudges him with an elbow. “Not so long ago, it was frowned upon for two men to have sex.”

He slides his eyes to look at her. “What’s your point?”

“My point is,” she says with some exasperation, “is that gay men had sex anyway.”

“So I should just stop worrying that I’m fucking my own artificial intelligence because it’s nobody business but my own?”

“Do you want my advice?” she asks, seriously this time. “Without the teasing?”

“I don’t think you can give advice without the teasing.”

She smiles. “Only in an emergency. Does 007 make you happy?”

“That’s not advice.”

She nudges him again. “Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“You deserve to be happy, Q.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be. No one cares that he’s an android, but you. M knows you’re in love with him. We all do.” She sighs. “A lot of people would love to have that with someone.”

Her melancholy expression is unexpected. “Lynd?” he asks, surprised, but she only smiles a little.

“Are you going to continue to fret over the little things or are you going to be happy?”

Q glances at the door again. “What did he say?”

“I’m not passing notes for you,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Go out there and have an actual conversation about this.” She pushes his shoulder and reluctantly he gets to his feet.

“We’re going to talk about this person you apparently love,” he says, but she just shakes her head.

“ _Go_.”

With his stomach tangled in nerves, he goes. But 007 isn’t outside the door. Having fully expected it to be waiting, Q stares blankly at the empty space. He has no idea where the unit might have gone. Where the hell does an AI go if it’s upset?

It has a tracking device, so that’s Q’s best option. He opens his phone, tapping his thumb impatiently against the side while he waits for the tracker to pinpoint its location.

Q feels his spine relax when it finally connects and he can see that the unit’s still in the building. Of course it is. He’s never gone anywhere without Q knowing about it—without knowing exactly where it is.

Right now, it’s upstairs; in one of the conference rooms. Although what he would be doing in a conference room, Q has no idea.

Nerves renewed, Q goes upstairs.

\--

“What are you doing?”

007 looks up from the electronic blueprints spread across the electronic table. Q is standing in the doorway, expression of confusion pinching his face. “That’s your program.”

007 straightens, searching his face for signs of distress. It doesn’t move toward him, although it would prefer to. To comfort him with touch.

“Why are you looking at it?” he asks. He isn’t moving either, so the unit stays where it is.

“I’m trying to figure out if there’s a way to subdue my personality, particularly the protection algorithms.”

Q’s eyebrows crumple and his voice is strained when he asks, “Why?”

“They’re beginning to overwhelm my other systems.”

“Are they?” Q’s lips are lifting as he comes into the room and shuts the door. “Which systems?”

“The algorithms dedicated to logic and reason,” the unit tells him. Q is close now and the urge to touch him is nearly overpowering. “Decorum…”

“Engage the privacy shade,” Q says quietly, an order for the room; not the unit. The translucent walls darken so that no one outside the room can see in. “Lock the door.”

As soon as the lock is engaged, Q puts his arms around the unit.

The unit pulls him closer automatically, as though someone has taken control of its systems. Q’s arms tighten as well and his face presses into 007’s cheek; kissing him several times. “You don’t need to subdue anything,” he mumbles. “This is how emotions work.”

With Q in its arms, the urge to touch him should be fading, but it isn’t. Sliding its fingers through Q’s curls helps a little. “I can’t experience emotions.”

“But your algorithms have managed a pretty convincing facsimile. It’s meant to be overwhelming,” he says quietly. “When you feel strongly about something. That need you have to protect me.”

“It never fades.”

Q rubs his nose gently over the unit’s cheek. “I know.”

007 closes his eyes, studying the sensation of Q’s fingers as they pet the back of its head. “Are you okay?” it eventually asks, when it’s no longer concerned that Q might not remain where he is.

Q pulls back so that they can see one another; he’s smiling. “I overreacted.”

007 searches his face. “You do that quite often.”

“Emotions are unpredictable.”

He’s still smiling, but the unit wants to be sure he understands so he says hesitantly, “I have no intention of sleeping with Lynd.”

Q inhales slowly. “Good,” he says quietly. Another inhale, readying himself for a conversation he considers important. “I need to explain why I reacted the way I did.”

“You were jealous.”

A slanted smile tilts Q’s mouth. “Of course you worked it out.”

“It was fairly obvious.”

Q huffs, but the amusement seems to bely his serious tone when he says, “You could sleep with her. If you wanted.”

“I don’t.”

“You can sleep with as many people as you like. I realise you probably think you can’t. After I got upset the first time about you and Lynd. And offering you to Ronson. And then there’s Silva, although I really think you want to stay as far away from him as possible, because—”

“Q.”

He closes his mouth slowly, eyes searching the unit’s face. The smile it’s wearing and the lines of amusement that always seem so appropriate when he rambles. “I don’t want to sleep with anyone else,” it says, as plainly as he can so that the message will be understood.

Q licks his lips, still staring. “Okay.”

He wants a kiss so 007 obliges, coaxing his lips open as their bodies press together.

There’s no reason to ask if Q feels the same way, because it understands very well how quickly he could change his mind. As soon as a more suitable partner comes along, he will. Someone who isn’t made of metal and alloy; someone who can love him as he deserves to be loved

\--

“I’m hovering, I know,” Q sighs as he checks the equipment for the tenth time.

“Feel free to hover if it helps.” It’s accustomed to Q’s worries. Especially for this, its first solo mission. Even though there isn’t any need to be anxious, it seems counterproductive to point it out. So he alleviates it when he can and reassures when he can’t.

“I don’t think there’s anything else you need.” He seems to be going through one of his mental checklists.

“I have my radio,” 007 assures him. “And my gun. And the data I need to find the chip.”

Hands on his hips, Q nods. “You’re the best agent for this job. You’ll be able to access the computers without any difficulty.” He sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself. “If it was anyone else, I’d have to go along…”

“You’ve programmed me with all of your own knowledge,” the unit reminds him and it seems to relax him a little. Hoping it will help even more, it moves into Q’s space to brush its knuckle over his cheek.

Some of the tension drains from his shoulders and he smiles. “You do that very well, you know…”

In answer, 007 brushes their lips together, encouraging Q to move fully against him. There’s no one to see them here in the airport. No one that knows them. And Q, as long as they’re not amongst his colleagues, never refuses a kiss.

It makes the unit wonder why he didn’t already have a partner. “I’ll be fine,” the unit tells him. “You’re always in my ear if I need anything.”

“I know.”

“And I’m bulletproof.”

That wins a smile from Q, which was the objective.

\--

The unit expects Q to stay in contact throughout the flight, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t contacted him once since they parted in the airport. On its other missions, Q was in near-constant contact unless radio silence was required. Perhaps he’s attempting to allow the unit to apply its skill without interference. It isn’t necessary, and it intends to tell him as much. It waits until the plane has landed.

Waits for the line to connect as he walks toward the car arranged by Q. “R here, 007,” the assistant’s voice fills its auditory sensors. “Status?”

“I’m in Innsbruck. Where’s Q?”

“He left a message that he wouldn’t be able to be on the comms this evening,” R says in her usual efficient tones. “If you need anything further, I’ll be here.”

“Did he say where he would be?”

“He typically doesn’t,” R says patiently. “Can I help you with something, 007?”

“Yes, if Q contacts you again, tell him I’d like to speak with him.”

“Acknowl—”

The unit cuts the line as it gets into the car, to dial Q’s private number. It goes straight to voicemail.

Frowning, the unit taps a thumb against the phone. Q willingly missing this first solo mission seems implausible. But it can’t think what else he could be doing instead of manning the comm.

The unit dials Lynd’s number next. She answers on the second ring, “Lynd.”

“Have you left for Cairo yet?”

“My flight leaves in three hours. What’s the matter?”

“R said Q passed comm duty off to her.”

“Q isn’t monitoring you?”

“Apparently not.”

“You want me to see if I can find him?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She disconnects, not one for pointless conversation. The very opposite of Q, but in this instance, the unit appreciates the brevity. She rings back a few moments later to report that Q didn’t report back to headquarters after accompanying 007 to the airport.

007 thanks her and rings off, the news unexpected and perplexing. Q didn’t seem upset when they separated. Worried, yes, but he’s always worried when the unit goes into the field.

There’s no reason for him not to answer his phone, not unless he’s purposely turned it off, which the unit doesn’t think he would have done. Not during its first solo mission.

It dials his number again, but is immediately met with the voicemail.

Without another option, the unit drives to the warehouse where the mark is meant to be; an arranged meeting with the unit playing the part of an unscrupulous businessman.

Best to finish the job quickly and return home as soon as possible.

With more effort than should be necessary, he puts the concern for Q to the back of its neural net to focus on the task at hand. Gathering intel, no assassination necessary. As long as the mark cooperates.

007 approaches the warehouse with stealth, making sure before he does to reroute his phone to its internal comm system. In case Q calls.

The warehouse is dark, but that’s to be expected. When it moves inside, it changes its pace so that it will appear at ease; no reason for a businessman to utilize stealth. There is a single row of dim lamps lighting the middle of the warehouse. Neither the mark, nor his henchman, are in plain view.

Affecting an impatient voice, the unit calls the mark’s name, glances at his watch to complete the picture. The mark doesn’t appear.

Alerted for the possibility that it has been set up, the unit goes back to stealth. And as it moves forward, he sees a man lying facedown in a pool of blood. The unit takes out its gun and as it does, another man steps out of the shadows. 007 stares at him, his processors working overtime to understand what Silva’s doing here.

“Hello,” he says in the same voice he so often uses; cheerful with the undercurrent of amusement. “I’ve already killed Reiter for you,” Silva says, pointing to the body lying in the pool of blood. “So we have time to chat.”

“Chat?” the unit repeats in its most dubious voice, not wanting to lower the Walther, but Silva thinks the unit is incapable of harming another agent. Silva smiles as he watches him lower the gun.

“I’ll take that,” he says and 007 allows it; it doesn’t need a gun to protect itself. Best not to give away his advantage although it shouldn’t need an advantage.

007 asks, “You flew all the way to Innsbruck just to chat with me?”

“It’s been a little difficult at headquarters,” Silva says as he takes a path round the unit, caressing the barrel of the Walther as he moves. “What with M’s orders to stay away from you… and _Q_ , always watching you so busily. So concerned for your safety.”

Q’s name coming from Silva’s mouth immediately puts the unit on alert, although it’s illogical. Silva is an agent of Mi6, arrogant though he is. And Q is perfectly safe in London.

“What are you hoping to chat about?” it asks in a bored tone. In truth, it’s curious to know exactly what Silva deems important enough to defy orders. He’s meant to be in Montreal.

Silva is still circling, but he comes to a stop when he’s in front of the unit. Their faces are level. His blue eyes are alert, the lazy flirtation from their first meeting nowhere to be found. “You,” he says. “I want to discuss you.”

“You want to fuck me,” the unit surmises but Silva laughs, false and bright as he throws back his head.

“No,” he says, lips pressing together to still his amusement as their eyes meet again. “Perhaps when we’ve finished negotiating, but that isn’t the reason for our meeting. Not today.”

“Negotiating,” the unit repeats flatly. The unit’s senses are heightened once more. It notes the exits, the distance to both; calculating the fastest route out. As well as how much pressure should be applied to Silva’s neck to break it. And while he calculates, he asks, “What do you want?”

Silva takes one step closer, so that 007’s sensory processors register his breath. “I want you. Your program, your blueprints, your matrices.”

The request is unexpected, perplexing and absolutely impossible to meet. The unit gives nothing away even as it asks with a perfect inflected confusion, “Why?”

“You must know how valuable you are. M certainly seems to think you’re special. You and _Q_.”

The unit narrows its eyes and Silva smiles.

“Have you guessed my plan?” he asks in a voice that resembles a song. “I want you to override Q’s access codes and if you don’t…. Bring him out,” he says, words thrown over his shoulder.

007 turns its head and immediately takes a step. Q is being held between two men, his head drooping as he’s dragged forward.

“Don’t,” Silva warns, a hand coming up to press against the unit’s chest. 007’s head snaps round, but the threat of bodily harm is stilled as Silva says, “Or they’ll kill him.”

The unit’s fingers curl at his side. “Q?”

Q lifts his head. There’s blood running down the side of his face.

“007?” he mutters. He looks confused, eyes unfocused as the two men shove him roughly to the floor.

007’s fingers flex in its effort to ignore the protection algorithms’ demand for vengeance. “What did you do to him?”

“He may be a bit concussed,” Silva tsks. “He’s a stubborn thing. But then you know that, don’t you, 007? Or may I call you James?”

“Let him go.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as you give me access to your program. You can do that, can’t you? Or shall I torture the information from your beloved creator?”

“Don’t touch him.”

Silva smiles. “Funny, isn’t it? You were programmed to be an assassin; to protect MI6 at all costs. But as it turns out, you love your creator too much to do what you were programmed to do.”

The unit pulls his eyes away from Q to stare in confusion at Silva.

“Oh,” he says, smiling with delight. “You don’t realise that’s what you’re feeling, do you? You didn’t realise he did this to you? Put so much of himself in you that you have no choice but to love him. To choose him over queen and country.”

“But see,” Silva says as he crouches down beside Q and continues to gaze at the unit. “I don’t have that problem. I don’t love him, 007. And if you don’t give me what I want—” He presses the gun to Q’s cheek. “—I’ll shoot him.”

Q is blinking slowly at Silva. His breaths are laboured, voice weaker as he breathes, “007…”

The choice is simple.

“I’ll give you access.”

Silva smiles broadly, pulls the gun away from Q’s face. “You’re too clever for your own good, Quartermaster,” he says as he stands.

Q tries to twist away from the men holding his arms, but they don’t allow him to move. He makes a frustrated noise and rasps, “He doesn’t have access.”

“Oh, I think he does,” Silva says, eyes on the unit. “Don’t you, 007? Q is too clever for his own good. He doesn’t even know what he’s created.”

Q is staring at 007, confused. It turns to Silva.

“Yes,” he says. “I have access. I’ll need a computer.”

Looking immensely pleased, Silva gives another order, halfway to a song, and one of the men holding Q slips into the shadows and returns with a computer. He sets it on a large metal drum. “Here we are,” he says pleasantly, presenting the computer with a flourish. “And isn’t it lovely that you can’t hurt me? Not such a clever boy, I suppose,” he tsks at Q. “ _Are_ we?”

The unit walks toward the computer.

Silva grins at him.

Moving at speeds too fast for him to anticipate, 007’s hands lash out and with one sharp twist, he snaps Silva’s neck, and then he takes the gun as it falls and shoots the guards, two clean shots; straight between their eyes. They fall to the ground with two dull thuds.

The unit tucks the gun into its holster even as he strides forward, dropping to his knees to take Q’s face carefully between its hands; searching for signs of further injury or concussion. “Are you okay?” it demands. “Are you in pain?”

Q shakes his head, at least as much as he’s able; captured between the unit’s hands. He lifts his own to cover the unit’s. “I’m okay,” he says, words thick, although 007 isn’t certain if it’s from injury or emotion. “What happened?”

“Do you remember how you got here?” 007 asks, leaning in to examine his pupils more closely. Q’s fingers clench around his hands and the unit draws back to allow Q to focus on its face.

“You broke his neck…”

“Yes.”

“You lied to him,” he mumbles. “That was… it was clever.” His muscles are beginning to droop. The unit brushes its thumbs over his cheeks, presses a little to keep him alert.

“Stay awake,” he says quietly. “Can you do that for me?”

“Mm.”

The unit activates its internal radio.

“Dawkins here. How can I help, 007?”

“Dawkins, Q is here with me. We need a flight back to England.”

“Q? But—”

“Connect me with M,” the unit cuts him off.

“Right away,” Dawkins returns to brisk efficiency. It only takes a moment to connect to M.

“007,” she says, sharp as always, “report.”

He explains the situation, concluding succinctly, “Silva’s dead.”

It’s quiet from M’s end. Her voice is without emotion when she asks, “And Q?”

“Alive. Possibly concussed. We’ll need a flight back to London, and a team to deal with the bodies.”

“Tanner will arrange it,” she says. “He’ll contact you with flight details. Put Q on.”

“I’m here,” Q says weakly.

“Silva’s dead?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“007 killed him?”

Q glances at the unit. His eyes are still glassy. He should be resting rather than sorting out details with M.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “He didn’t have a choice.”

Another long silence and then M says, “Report to my office as soon as you’re in London.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She doesn’t respond, already off the line. Q swallows, the phone limp in his hand. “She’s going to kill me.”

“It’s not your fault. I killed him.”

“And you’re my android,” he says tiredly as he looks around. “Where are we?”

“In a warehouse. We should leave, before anyone comes in.”

“Right.” Q rubs at his eyes. They’re rimmed with red, pupils still too small. “Everything feels numb…”

“You’re probably concussed. Here.” The unit stands and with careful movements, he lifts Q into his arms.

“You can’t carry me to the airport,” Q mumbles. Confusion is a common symptom of concussion.

“I have a car.”

“Mm. Good.”

007 bends its head to press its mouth to his curls. “You can’t sleep,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”

Q mumbles an agreement, and the unit pulls him closer to his chest as it carries him outside.

**\--**

Q does sleep eventually, but the unit wakes him every twenty minutes. More often than a doctor would advise, but it prefers caution.

Tanner charters a flight on a private plane, for which the unit intends to buy him a gift. He makes a note to ask Q what the chief of staff would like as he asks the flight attendant for water.

“No ice,” it adds because Q doesn’t like ice. “And two paracetemol, if have you have them.”

“Certainly, sir,” the attendant says with a smile. Another human who has no idea that 007 is an artificial intelligence.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” it asks. “We were in an accident on the way to the airport.” She’s been eyeing Q’s cut since they boarded.

“Yes, sir,” she says pleasantly before moving to the front of the plane.

Q has his eyes closed, but he’s no longer asleep as they cross the channel back to British territory. The unit wants to ask him for more details, how he was abducted, what they did to him, if he’s experiencing pain anywhere other than his head. Was Silva telling the truth? Did Q program the unit to behave as though it’s in love with him? Was the wayward agent simply attempting manipulation?

It chooses instead to allow Q to rest, so that he might regain some of his strength before they land—before he has to endure M’s interrogation.

“For a moment,” Q mutters, eyes still closed, “I thought you had somehow bypassed my access codes. Just imagine what M would say to _that_.”

The unit doesn’t say anything.

“You’re okay though, right?” Q asks, yawning. He turns his head, one eye opening to squint at him. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“Mm, good thing you’re bulletproof. And thank god you lied to M about not being able to harm another agent.”

“Yes.”

Q tilts his head a little more and frowns. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” A lie, as certainly as the one to M. But the unit has no tells so Q believes him.

“Good.” He smiles a little. “M is still going to kill me for Silva. She’ll say you should have brought him in for questioning.”

“I couldn’t risk you.”

“I know.” Q reaches out to pat the unit’s leg just as the flight attendant returns with the water and a first aid kit. “Oh. Thank you.”

But it’s 007 who takes the kit from her, opening it on the table attached to its seat and sorting through the contents until it finds needle and thread.

“I don’t think it’s deep enough to need sutures,” Q says, eyeing the needle warily.

“I’ll clean it and then we’ll know. Perhaps the toilet would be better?”

Q grimaces, but he unfastens his seatbelt. 007 puts a steadying hand under his elbow, which earns him a tired smile and then Q shuffles toward the toilet with the unit just behind.

It’s a close fit in, although larger than the ones on commercial aeroplanes. 007 solves the problem by backing Q up against the door and Q smirks, amusement lighting his eyes for the first time since 007 first saw him in the warehouse.

007 smiles, slides a palm across the back of his neck and kisses him; because they’re alone and because it quiets the unasked questions. But as much as the unit enjoys the kissing, it isn’t sufficient. He wants to pull Q tight against it, create a shelter with its body; to keep him safe from anyone that might harm him.

It didn’t need to kill Silva. It could have subdued him. And yet, he would make the same choice to protect Q.

Whether or not that enrages the head of MI6 is immaterial. And expressly against the unit’s programming. Which means Silva’s words may have been true. Although it doesn’t have the ability to love, perhaps Q did program it to display behaviors that emulate the emotion.

Q was lonely. He admitted he was lonely. If Q did program the unit to love him, what does that mean? Does Q love the unit as well? Is he capable of loving a machine?

“007?”

It focuses on the touch of Q’s palm against its cheek, ignoring the conflicting impulses driving its neural net. Q looks worried. And there’s still blood dripping from his cut.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, voice soft with concern.

“Nothing.” The unit turns away to wet one of the cloths on the sink. But Q catches his wrist before it can apply it to his forehead.

“Did he do something to your program?”

“I’m concerned about you. You need to see a doctor.”

“I will. As soon as we get back to MI6.”

007 nods and Q allows him to press the damp cloth to his skin. It takes great care to clean the wound, applying only minimal pressure and watching for signs of discomfort. “You can press harder than that,” Q says, lips twitching. “I’m not breakable.”

“You are breakable,” the unit counters in a low voice, concentrating on its task, moving closer to him even though there is no one here who can harm him. “He could have killed you.”

“But he didn’t.”

The unit nods sharply. It’s difficult to remain still. It feels as though too much power is being diverted to its limbs. It wants to do something. Shooting in the gallery, or driving the DB10 along a long stretch of empty road. He kisses Q instead, with more vigour than is wise in his condition.

He pulls away to mumble an apology.

“Why are you apologizing for kissing me?” Q is stroking its face. “It’s okay. I think your protection algorithms are just overloaded. How deep is the cut?”

The question draws the unit’s restless attention where it belongs. He examines the wound, and decides Q was right: it doesn’t need stitches. It’s already beginning to bruise, however. “I think a bandage will work for now.”

“Okay. Do you want to…”

But the unit is already sorting through the kit to find one.

\--

“Where are we going?” Q asks. He feels like he hasn’t slept in days, although it’s been less than twelve hours—he thinks—since Silva jumped him in the parking garage of the airport.

“To your flat,” 007 tells him as he drives the same car Q didn’t quite manage to get into before being kidnapped. By Silva. Of all fucking people. M really is going to kill him.

Her favourite agent is dead and Q’s android was the one to kill him.

“M ordered me to report to headquarters.”

“She can wait until you’ve had time to recover. I’ve asked Dr. Lin to meet us there.”

“At my flat?”

“How did you…”

“Vesper arranged it. She said Dr. Lin owed her a favour.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Q sighs. “We could have just gone into medical.”

“If you believe M will be angry with you, it may be best to wait.”

“I can handle M. She was fond of Silva, so of course she’ll be upset.”

“He threatened to kill you.”

“I know. I’ll be fine,” he says, hoping it will help. “If I have concussion, rest is the only prescription a doctor can make anyway.”

“Rest, which you won’t get if you’re arguing with M.” The unit sounds distinctively displeased… irritated even. Q has long since accepted it emulates emotions, but irritation because of its need to protect him, he doesn’t think that’s ever happened.

“I’ll rest after we finish arguing. Just… take us to headquarters, please.”

The unit is frowning heavily, making no sign of turning around. He presses his lips together and then quietly, he says, “I’m taking you home.”

Stunned at the blatant refusal, it takes Q a moment to respond. “007—”

“You were nearly killed,” it says in a tone Q has never heard it use before. Harsher than he knew it could be. “You’re not going to headquarters until the doctor sees you and you’ve had time to recover. M can wait. Silva’s dead and you arguing with her about whether or not I should have killed him isn’t going to change that.”

Q stares at him, the lengthy, growled speech unexpected. “You agreed to follow my orders—”

“In the field. The mission is over.”

“You can’t just...” But he can just. It’s pulling into Q’s parking space, opening the door before Q can finish sputtering. Q fumbles with the lapbelt, not finished with it before the unit opens his door, eyebrows expectant. Q scowls at him as he pushes out of the seat. Thankfully, his head isn’t as fuzzy as it was an hour ago. “What are you doing?” he demands, keeping his voice low enough that the passersby won’t glance at him.

“Taking you inside.” 007 closes the door and gestures for him to go ahead. Q narrows his eyes.

“Silva couldn’t have done anything to your program, but there’s obviously something wrong with it—”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. You could have been killed today—”

“I know. And that’s upset your protection algorithms,” Q interrupts, no longer baffled. “Okay, so we’ll go upstairs and wait for the doctor, but then we’re going to headquarters.”

007 doesn’t argue with that, although its jaw is still taut. Q touches his arm and as though it’s been programmed into him, some of the tension drains away. Q smiles and that help as well. The unit steps toward him, obviously looking for a kiss so Q obliges him.

Just like on the plane, it seems to ground the unit. It’s a strange side effect of the protection algorithms but Q doesn’t mind. He enjoys the kissing, even when it’s medicinal.

007 searches his face when they separate, probably looking for signs of concussion again. He lets him look his fill and when he seems satisfied that Q isn’t going to faint on the spot, he says, “Let’s go inside and wait for Dr. Lin.”

But once they’re in the flat—Q immediately finding Felix to scoop her up and apologize for being gone so long—the tension has returned. He’s pacing, which is not something he should be doing. Not unless something is wrong with his mobile processors.

“I have to set you down,” Q murmurs to the cat, who is perfectly happy in his arms. “I’ll just be a moment.” He puts her down and goes to his computer, calling up the unit’s program.

“What are you doing?”

“Running a diagnostic,” Q murmurs, not looking up from the screen. “You’re pacing.”

“You don’t need to run a diagnostic.” 007 is beside him, no longer pacing. “I told you there’s nothing wrong.”

“Just a quick check,” Q tells him, fingers deftly moving over the screen. Felix jumps onto the desk and silently, 007 plucks her away from the keyboard and pulls her to its chest. Q spares him a quick smile before going back to the diagnostic.

“There’s nothing wrong with my program,” the unit says again, voice quieter than a moment ago.

“You keep saying that, but you ignored me when I told you to take me to headquarters.”

“You still primarily think of me as your tool.”

Q looks up, frowning at the quiet words. “I’m worried about you. You’re not the only one who worries.”

“I’m not malfunctioning. Every time I make a decision you disagree with you think I’m malfunctioning.”

“Because you could be. You’re not programmed to—”

“I’m not programmed to fuck you, but I do that often enough.”

Q’s eyes snap up. “What—”

“I’m not programmed to want to attack men you’re kissing, but I did want to. I killed a man because he threatened you. I would do it again in an instant.”

“007—”

“Silva said it’s because you programmed me to love you. And that’s why I have no control of my actions, this need I have to be near you, he said it was your own wishes unconsciously built into my neural net—”

“Silva was insane. He wanted your program because he was jealous. Because he thought he was no longer M’s favourite.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not supposed to do any of this. You constantly berate me for behaving erratically—”

“Berate you? I don’t—”

“You’ve threatened to reprogram me several times. You programmed me with a safe word—”

“Of course I did! I had no way of knowing you would be so… so…”

“Human?” the unit’s tone is fully of mockery as Felix scrambles out of its arms. “I’m not human though, and I never will be no matter how much you wish I could be.”

“I don’t wish you were human, what—”

“You said it would be easier if I was human.”

“Well, it would be,” Q says, exasperated.

The unit’s chest expands with its breath, its lips thinning and then it turns around. Starts walking toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

The unit ignores him and Q, reacting instinctively, stabs the deactivation key. But 007 doesn’t still, and he only realises what he’s done when the unit turns around slowly. His face is twisted with anger. “I overrode your deactivation codes,” he says, words clipped. “You can’t deactivate me.”

Q gapes at the unit, and then at the program and back again. “How did you…”

“I accessed the codes. The ones Silva wanted.”

“Today?”

“Weeks ago.”

It’s as if the air has been pulled from the room. Everything is turned upside down. “ _Weeks_ ago,” he breathes. “But you didn’t…”

“Tell you.” His voice is cold and flat, as though the clock has been spun backwards and he’s just been activated. “Why would I tell you? So you could reprogram me? Or change the codes?”

Q ignores the implication—the hurt the unit is displaying to embrace his own growing anger. “You lied to me.”

“ _That’s_ your concern? That I lied to you? Not that your first inclination is to deactivate me whenever I do something you don’t like?”

The unit shakes his head when Q doesn’t immediately respond and turns away, heading straight for the door again.

Q has no idea where he’s going. No idea what the hell is happening.

“Wait!” And when that doesn’t work, he blurts, “007, stand down!” It’s panic that makes him call the words out. The unit turns, the hurt in his eyes making Q’s chest ache despite the panic.

“That doesn’t work either,” the unit says quietly. “And it won’t ever again.” He turns around and there’s nothing Q can do to stop him as he walks out of the flat.

\--

Q doesn’t expect to be able to access 007’s program; expects him to have locked him out. And maybe he will, once it occurs to him. But for the moment, Q is accessing his program—the GPS specifically. Watching as the marker goes to the car park, to the DB10—of course—and drives away from the building.

His stomach clenched tightly, Q picks up his phone and dials 007’s mobile number. It rings—only a metre away on the kitchen table. Q grimaces and tries to contact him via its internal radio but either the unit ignores him or the radio’s been disabled.

Neither bodes well. So Q continues to watch the monitor, absently picking up Felix when she makes a tentative pass at his legs. “Sorry,” he says quietly as he brings her to his chest. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve been an arse, but he’ll come back. Of course he’ll come back.”

Felix purrs into his jumper, but it doesn’t help like it usually would. His chest is heavy, throat tight as he watches the unit’s dot. It’s a bit easier to breathe once he realises it’s going to headquarters.

Relieved, Q lets his legs bend and he drops into the chair, bringing Felix close to his cheek to feel the rumbling vibrations of her purring. Watches to be sure the beacon stops at MI6—it does.

He’s in the building and although Q has no idea what he’s doing there at least he’s safe. Even if there worry twisting his insides. He shouldn’t be worried. 007 won’t hurt anyone.

But even though he believes that, he thinks leaving him to fend for himself at headquarters is probably not the best idea. Especially if M realises he’s there.

“I have to go after him,” he says into Felix’s fur. The cat’s fur is shiny now, grown out well from its initial shaggy state. Q can no longer see her ribs. “Come on,” he says to the cat that 007 brought home for him—just to make him happy, “help me find a clean jumper.”

His phone rings just as he pulls it over his head.   “Eve?”

“Your boyfriend is down here. In the shooting gallery, laying waste to the targets. Everyone’s afraid to go in there.”

“ _Shit_.”

\--

The shooting gallery is empty except for 007, although there is quite a large crowd gathered behind the transparent wall in the corridor. Both Eve and Tanner are there. Q grimaces as soon as he sees them and asks Tanner, “Does M know we’re here?”

“She probably does by now,” he says at a low volume. Q sighs.

“What happened?” Eve asks. “Is something wrong—”

“It’s not his program,” Q cuts in quickly, wanting to stop any thought of the unit having gone off its rails. “I’ll explain later.”

Her eyebrows rise, a firm _yes you will_ if he’s ever seen one. Not that Q minds. He will explain everything later. But for now… for now, he still has no idea what he’s going to say to 007.

The unit is shooting with the Walther; the same one he killed Silva with. The one he gravitated toward even before he was… not human. 007 will never be human. But he is more than the assassin Q programmed him to be.

Much more.

The memory of the hurt on his face makes Q’s stomach twist. Hurting the unit… he doesn’t want to do that ever again. And the longer he stands out here, the longer 007 will be upset.

007 fires four rounds in quick succession as Q opens the door. It glances over, looks away again, jaw tautening as it shoots off another round. Q can see the gathered spectators wince behind the transparent wall. He does look terrifying like this, exactly like the weapon Q created him to be.

But unlike all of them, Q knows the unit won’t hurt him. He walks across the floor, moving carefully so that he stays in 007’s line of sight.

He’s stopped firing, but his finger is still on the trigger, hand steady as he aims.

Q touches his arm as soon as he’s close enough and 007’s finger slides off the trigger. He turns his head until their eyes meet. His face is stiff, expression banked. Waiting for Q to hurt him again. Q can feel his throat aching. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

007 lowers his arm, sets the safety and turns to face him fully. His eyes are searching now, cautious because Q keeps hurting him. Q doesn’t know how to convince him he’ll do better. “I’m so sorry,” he says, words scratching now. “I’ll never do that to you again.”

007 would be well within his rights to remind him that he can’t. That he’s overridden Q’s programming. Q isn’t surprised that he doesn’t. Is even less surprised that he touches Q’s cheek, thumb brushing against the bone. And quiet acceptance comes so easily. “Okay.”

Q moves closer, mirroring the motion because 007 likes to be touched, responds to it like Q never expected he could. He leans into it now, a response Q doesn’t even know if he’s controlling at this point. But he seems to have no qualms about the proximity even after Q betrayed his trust. “I promise I won’t. I want to explain, but we don’t have to do that here and only if you want to.”

“Okay.”

Q smiles, the ache in his throat not subsiding but the simple word is just a reminder of how much Q wants this. “You’re allowed to be angry,” he says. “But we should probably take this to my office.”

“Because no one is allowed to know about us?” There’s bitterness in his tone. Entirely deserved.

“No, I don’t think it’s good for productivity for my staff to hear you shouting at me.” He’s aiming for teasing but 007 takes it seriously.

“I won’t shout at you.”

The spectators are still watching, but Q think it’s probably time to put that fear to rest as well. He kisses the unit, just a quiet press of lips but 007 kisses him back, eyes opening slowly as he pulls back to search Q’s face.

“Did you program me to love you?”

Q swallows, doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t know. But he owes him at least this much. “I don’t know.” The unit doesn’t react. “ _Do_ you love me?”

007 frowns, his face contorting with the weight of the question. “Love is often defined as a feeling of deep attachment. Or affection. I can’t feel anything, but when Silva threatened to kill you… I knew with absolute certainty that your continued existence was necessary.”

“You can feel,” Q tells him, putting his hand over the place where his mechanical heart sits. “Maybe not the same way we do, stimulated by dopamine and serotonin. But you _do_ feel. And you express it every single day. Every time you bring me tea or worry about me not sleeping, you express it.”

The unit is frowning. “But if you programmed me to feel this way...”

“It wasn’t intentional, but if it’s because of something I did, it’s still real. Your program expanding, changing like a human does.

“It isn’t the same.”

“No,” Q agrees. “But does it matter? Humans love others for all sort of reasons, or they love for no reason at all.”

The unit nods, eyes still searching. “Do you love _me_?” he finally asks, curious and hesitant all at once and Q’s throat tightens again.

“Yes.” He can’t deny it any longer. He doesn’t want to. “Very much.”

The unit smiles and they’re kissing, in the middle of the shooting gallery, with a dozen people watching.

But Q doesn’t care anymore. He cups the back of the unit’s head and kisses him, other hand gentle against his face. 007’s hands are doing the same. Their foreheads are pressed together when Q finally needs to breathe.

“You can choose,” he says quietly. “Even if I did somehow make you love me, you don’t have to be with me. It has to be your choice. But either way, no matter what you choose, I’m going to deactivate—”

007 pulls back abruptly.

“No, wait,” Q says, voice rising as he steps back into its space. The unit allows it, but his eyes are wary. Q touches his face. “Not you,” he says quietly. “I’ll never do that to you again. I was going to say deactivate the self-destruct overrides. They’ll be entirely in your control now, just like every other agent.” His voice catches as he forces out the rest of the words. “No matter what you choose, it’s not right to keep those in place.”

007 smiles, brighter than Q has ever seen him. “Thank you.”

\--

“So good of you to make time for me,” M says when Tanner shows him into her office. Q can’t tell by her expression if she knows about the shooting gallery snog.

She’s standing behind her desk, rather than sitting, a sign she’s agitated. At least it always has been in the past. But then, the death of her agents always agitates her. And the fact that it’s an agent who betrayed MI6—Silva, of all people—of course she’s agitated.

“Where’s the unit?” she asks.

“With Ronson.” It was 007’s idea, in order to ease M’s concerns. She doesn’t look easy in the least.

“Did you reprogram it?” she asks bluntly. “Or did it lie to me about its inability to harm an another agent?”

Q keeps his face straight, never wise to let her know you’re worried. “He was trying to protect me.”

“He lied.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Under your direction?”

He weighs his options and goes with the foolish choice, “No, ma’am.”

She nods. “But you approve.”

“I do.” It’s not the entire truth but it’s as much as she needs to know. “Silva threatened me. He intended to kill me. 007 made the right call.”

“Could it have subdued him without killing him?” she asks, eyes sharp. Waiting, he can see, for any excuse to insist the unit is a danger to MI6.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Possibly. He isn’t 006. He didn’t kill an agent because of a malfunction.”

“It killed him because he threatened your life.”

“Yes.”

“Something the 007 unit wasn’t programmed to do.”

Q inhales slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Then, explain that to me,” she says as she sits her chair. “And convince me not to order you to deactivate him immediately and pull the plug on this entire project.”

Q takes a deep breath and does as she asks.

\--

“I think she’ll come around,” Q says, when they’re back at his flat and both of them in bed. Felix, much preferring the quiet, is asleep in her bed.

“She wasn’t upset about Silva?”

“I think she was. She’s hard to read. Speaking of which,” Q says as he puts his legs over the unit’s. “I still can’t believe you lied to me. I understand why you did,” he says before 007 can explain. “But I don’t like the idea of you lying to me.”

“I thought you weren’t going to control my actions any longer.”

“It’s not about controlling you, but if you… if we intend to have a human relationship—”

“I’m not human.”

“I know that,” Q says impatiently as he pushes up to sit. “But that’s not the point. You can’t lie to me. Not if we’re partners.”

“ _Are_ we partners?”

The question isn’t meant to be hurtful, obviously. But it is, just a little. “If you want to be.”

007 raises an eyebrow, and that helps. Q smiles and leans down to kiss him.

007 pulls him closer with a hand wound in his pyjama shirt. “I won’t lie to you again,” he says eventually; quiet against Q’s mouth.

“Even if you think the truth will upset me?”

“No.”

“Good, because I can’t deactivate you any longer, so there’s no reason to.”

“That isn’t why I lied.”

Q pulls away, frowns.

“I already knew you couldn’t deactivate me,” 007 reminds him. Right.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to be angry with me.”

Smiling, Q pushes him backward. 007 blinks, confused as he thumps against the mattress. “That’s going to happen eventually, you know. Me, angry with you for something you’ve done. Just like you were angry with me. Don’t pretend you weren’t.”

The unit’s mouth closes on the denial that was obviously about to come forth.

“It’s normal,” Q tells him as he straddles his hips.

“We’re not normal.” He’s pulling Q closer, hands at his waist. “We never will be.”

Q adjusts so that he’s sitting astride his hips, grips the unit’s hands to tangle them with his own. “Close enough. And just because you’re not human doesn’t mean you can’t be angry with me. Or irritated. Or frustrated. Maybe all at once.”

“I won’t be.”

Q smiles, the confidence endearing. “I will be. I’m only human, after all.”

007 finally smiles, tugs Q down so they can kiss. Slides its hands over Q’s arse to pull him snugly against his body.

“Make up sex?” Q asks against his lips.

“More than once.”

Q’s grin is lost to their kiss.


	14. Ready, Set, Individuate

“Allowing you access to the self-destruct is going to be more difficult than I anticipated,” Q says with a grimace. He looks as though he expects a strenuous objection. 007 doesn’t meet his expectation.

“I trust that you won’t activate it,” it says, a factual statement even if the unit would prefer to have it under his control just like every agent does. “You don’t have to dismantle the override.”

“I do have to,” Q says in a voice that seems excessively patient. “It only exists in the first place because of what happened with 006. And because I never expected to…” He pauses here and the unit expects him to let the words falter but Q is a constant source of surprise. “… fall in love with you,” he says. “And having so much control of your partner is… well, it’s not a good thing. Not that I’ve ever had control over anyone, and not that I have over you either, except in this…”

He gives up with a smile when he notices the unit’s frown, shakes his head to clear the expression. “The point, and you won’t like it, but the point is I need to deactivate you, or rather you need to deactivate yourself. Is that… You’re smiling again.”

“I trust you to reactivate me,” 007 says. “Did you suspect I didn’t?”

“Well, no, but you’ve always been so adamant that you wanted to remain online and you did have that fear at one point.”

007 steps into his space, closer until Q has to tip his chin. “How long will it take?”

Q swallows, but it’s not nerves; more likely to be caused by the unit’s hand, currently sitting at his waist. “I can’t be certain. It’s a complicated code, meant to be impossible for you to access which makes it more difficult for me as well.”

“And you’ll bring me back online as soon as you’re finished?”

Q nods, and without a word, takes the unit’s face between his hands and kisses him. A hard press of lips that 007 wasn’t expecting. He has no chance to return it as Q pulls away just as abruptly. He’s still holding the unit’s face. “As soon as I’m finished,” he promises.

007 smiles at him and initiates the deactivation key for the first time.

Q fades away.

The unit comes back online as abruptly as always. Q is standing just where he was before, smiling expectantly. 007 feels its lips pulling up. “You were successful.”

“See for yourself,” Q invites. 007 explores its neural net, finds the algorithms controlling the self-destruct function. Access that he never had before. He smiles.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. He decides Q is standing too far away, so he reaches for him. Q moves at the same time, which is fortuitous.

\--

The dream algorithms haven’t been perfected yet, but it seems less important now that 007 is welcome to stay in Q’s bed for the duration of the night. Q is, as humans would term it, a cuddler; staying close to the unit as he sleeps.

Felix also enjoys close contact, although she is more restless than Q is, moving between them before finally settling next to its head, her tail brushing his face. She’s gained weight since he brought her to Q and she seems to experience few instances of anxiety when left alone, although Q still prefers to take her to headquarters as often as possible.

Unlike Felix, once Q finds a comfortable position, he doesn’t move much. At the moment, he’s against 007’s side, one arm over its bare chest; Q seems to prefer sleeping nude after sex.

Moving carefully, the unit settles his palm against Q’s back, to feel the rhythm of his breathing. It’s not a wise choice, however. He stirs, mumbling indecipherable words against the unit’s chest.

Dipping his head, 007 whispers an apology, deciding the quiet words will encourage him not wake fully. But Q rolls his head, unpredictable in his reactions.

He smiles sleepily. “Hey.”

007 strokes his back and Q curls closer while the unit pitches his voice to be soothing, “Go back to sleep.”

“Mm.”

He continues stroking, and Q’s breaths slow but instead of allowing himself to fall asleep again, he kisses the unit’s chest. His voice is still thick with lethargy when he mumbles, “You don’t have to stay here. If you’re bored...”

“I’m not,” 007 assures him. He feels… content, might be the human equivalent. Neural net quiet and undisturbed. Proximity to Q always has that effect, but this—with Q sleeping against him—if anyone asked how it felt about it, he would say he likes it.

Q kisses him again, fingers sliding over the hair above its waistband. It’s one of his preferred methods of touch. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Research?”

007 chooses a human approximation. “Thinking.”

“About what?”

“You. And Felix,” 007 adds after a moment’s contemplation. “I wondered if she might like a companion.”

Q lifts his head. He’s smiling. “You want to get another cat?”

“I’ve read it can be beneficial for cats with separation anxiety to live in pairs.”

“So you _have_ been researching.”

007 lifts his eyebrows in an approximation of a shrug, which makes Q grin. He doesn’t look as tired as he did a moment ago. The unit brushes its knuckles along his cheek. “It’s too early for you to be awake.”

But Q shakes his head, puts a leg around the unit’s as though he wants to be sure it won’t leave. “Do you have another cat in mind?”

Felix, from her perch next to the unit’s head, stretches at the query. Q reaches over 007’s chest to run a hand along her back. She twitches her tail and begins to purr.

“We should look for one at a rescue, if you don’t. What do you think of that, Felix? 007 thinks you should have a friend…” He frowns. “That sounds strange.”

“What does?”  

“007. Especially when we’re in bed.”

“Why?”

Q smiles at him. “Because it’s your designation. It’s fine if you want to keep using it, but when it’s just us… or with your friends—Lynd and Ronson,” he adds with a smile that he’s obviously trying to swallow away when the unit stares at him blankly. “You could use James. Or Bond. Or you can choose a different name altogether since I chose this one.” His nose wrinkles. “You may not want to keep it if that’s too strange. You could change it to anything you like. I could change your passports and—”

“Q.”

He falls silent, eyes worried.

“I don’t mind that you chose my name,” 007 tells him.

“But—”

“Even if we’re in a relationship, you still created me.”

“Not _if_.”

The unit smiles, and so does Q. He looks happy. Which happens more often now than the worry. Considerably more often.

“James,” the unit says quietly. “Call me James.”

Q smiles. “James,” he tests the name and the unit decides he’d like to hear him using it again. As often as possible. Without warning him, 007 rolls them so that Q is on his back, scaring Felix off the bed and startling Q as well.

But he recovers quickly, eyes bright with arousal. He enjoys the unit’s superior strength. Which explains the muscles he created for it. He’s running his hands over them now, down 007’s biceps as though learning them for the first time.

Palm skimming over his chest and then his expression is thoughtful as he brushes a thumb over a nipple. “I could probably adjust the algorithms to make you more sensitive to physical stimuli. Emulate arousal more effectively?”

“It isn’t necessary.” 007 watches his hand move, rolling the nipple between his fingers as the unit has done to him so often. It does it again now, scrapes lightly with his nail and Q inhales sharply.

It’s not quite a kink, as the term is defined, but he enjoys a little bit of pain during sex. Light scratches, teeth scraping… 007 leans in to kiss his jaw, turns his head to rub the light stubble on his own jaw over Q’s skin and yes, he likes that as well.

He’s growing hard, the rate of his breathing increasing. He’s touching 007’s face, back of his fingers running over the stubble he so cleverly added to its program to make it appear more human after long days on a mission—or an overnight stay in someone’s bed.

The unit wonders if he would enjoy the sensation over his inner thighs, or carefully over his penis. He moves to slide down Q’s body, but Q stops him, pushes at his chest with a smile. Clearly, he wants to be the one on the top so 007 indulges him; allows him to roll them back.

“OK?” Q asks.

Running its hands over his arse and up his back, 007 says in a low voice, “It would be better if you were fucking me.”

Grinning, Q bends to kiss him, their bodies aligned so that his cock is pressing against the unit’s. 007 signals for an erection so that Q can feel it thicken against his own. A good choice, given the way the kisses become desperate.

He rubs their cocks rub together—frottage, the unit knows from its research. Q has never shown any preference for it but the unit likes the way they’re touching from head to foot. The way Q is pressing down against him with purpose.

He braces his hands against the unit’s chest, mouth parted as he finds a good angle, alternating between slow thrusts and sharper, uneven in rhythm but Q is enjoying it. There’s a flush on his cheeks; panting as he moves.

007 has its hands on his hips, just to keep him steady, not to guide them. Q seems to content to take that role. He’s watching the unit’s face, and when 007 smiles, Q grins as well; leans in to kiss him. Mutters against his mouth, “Roll over?”

“Mm, finally going to fuck me?”

“Any objections?”

“Only that you’re taking your time about it.”

Q chuckles and bites his chin. “Just roll over.”

Smiling, 007 obeys, pushes his hips up since it knows Q will enjoy the view. And it will be easier to fuck him at that angle. And he does like it, easy to judge just by the way Q’s fingers are stroking his arse, chest pressed close; lips at the unit’s back. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. “I love looking at you.”

007 turns his head, smiles when their eyes meet. “You designed me well.”

There’s a moment when it thinks that was the wrong choice of words, a moment of uncertainty in Q’s expression but he kisses the unit’s back again, fingers touching down on the signature he left on its hip as his mouth moves downward, soft kisses; a deviation from the norm.

Q rarely takes the time to kiss over its body. He takes the time now, all the way down its spine, over the swell of its arse. Q’s hands are sure as well, no hesitation in touching him; or reaching down for its cock.

It’s already hard and the unit moans as Q’s fingers circle it to rub slowly. The fingers still. Q kisses one of his shoulder blades.

“Do you mind if we do this with you on your back?” he asks. “I want to see your face.”

007 rolls over. “I prefer this as well.”

“Do you?” Q runs the pads of his fingers up the unit’s abdomen, obviously appreciating the musculature again. “You can tell me if you want to do something… or change what we’re doing. Or stop altogether.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Eyes amused, Q obliges but he does mutter, “I’m serious.”

“I know you are, and we can talk all about it after you fuck me,” 007 mutters right back.

Q draws back, mouth pulling halfway between a frown and a smile. “Is that what you want?”

007 takes the lube from the top of the bedside table and offers it with a pointed raise of its eyebrows.

Laughing, Q kisses him as he takes it. “All right, all right. Bend your knees for me.”

007 complies, lets its legs fall open as well, watching as Q’s attention shifts; appreciation as he looks him over before pushing his lubed fingers in. Usually, when Q fucks him, he only uses his fingers long enough to provide ample lubrication for penetration.

This is different. He’s watching the unit’s face as he scissors his fingers. 007 uses its knowledge of human sexual pleasure and moans as Q’s fingers push deeper.

There’s a frown of concentration between Q’s eyebrows, but his cock is erect; pressing against 007’s thigh. Obviously ready to begin. So the unit pants, “Fuck me.”

It takes a further moment for Q to pull his fingers out, wipes them carefully on his discarded shirt before he leans over 007. Even the slide of his cock into its body is slow.

He’s watching the unit’s reactions carefully and although its not sure what he’s looking for, it does what Q would expect of a human; breath held as Q pushes his penis inside and then he says at a low timbre, meant to arouse him further, “More.”

Q stretches up to meet his lips, a deep kiss as he starts moving his hips.

He takes the unit’s cock in hand, the first time he’s ever done so. 007 moans because it’s what a human would do, moving its hips in time to Q’s rhythm. Meeting every one of his thrusts.

And when Q shudders, his fingers squeezing reflexively around the unit’s penis, it orders the mechanism to ejaculate.

Q’s face is pressed into the unit’s neck, but his auditory processors are acute enough that he hears him breathe, “James,” as he comes.

Said like this, still connected, the unit likes it even better than when Q was simply testing it. He slides its fingers up Q’s back, sliding over his vertebrae.

Q is kissing all over its face as his chest rises and falls erratically. “How was that?” he asks. “Okay?”

“Perfect,” the unit tells him, moves its face to find his lips; to kiss him slowly. The best way, it’s found, to bring him down from the exhilaration of an orgasm.

The kisses are unfocused though and Q pulls back after a moment. “That was the first time you’ve… you came. How did it feel?”

He looks anxious, which is not generally a good sign after an orgasm. 007 soothes a hand down his spine.

“I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?”

“I always enjoy having sex with you.”

“I know, but…”

“You called me James.”

Q’s face transforms, the worry slipping away for a shy smile; a smile that isn’t amongst those already catalogued by the unit. “Is that okay?”

The unit has no idea why he’s worried but it cups the back of his neck and brings their mouths together and the worries, whatever their reason, no longer seem to matter.

\--

“Well?” Q asks excitedly. “Are you ready?”

“Perhaps we should move this test to your bed,” 007 suggests with a smirk. “For authenticity’s sake.”

“Always eager to get into bed,” Q teases, but then his expression changes to one more serious. “I want to ask you about that later. Don’t let me forget.”

007 moves closer to him, sets a hand at his waist. “Ask me now.”

“No, it’s fine. Here, come on, let’s see if these dream algorithms work. Go ahead.”

He’s excited and as much as the unit would like to utilize the dream algorithms, Q’s question, whatever it may be, is more important. So it puts its other hand on him and brings him in with a gentle tug. Lips at Q’s neck and a soft demand, “Tell me first.”

Q laughs softly and mutters, “OK.”

Smiling, 007 straightens so they can see one another; more conducive for conversation.

“I was curious… about your… about whether or not you’re still controlling your, well your sexual functions. ” His face is flushed, an illogical reaction to the questions, given the number of times they’ve had sex, but 007 smiles nonetheless even if he is confused.

Reminds him, “I’m incapable of acting without deliberate intent.”

“Are you?” Q looks curious, not worried which seems a positive progression. “I’m not sure you are. Incapable. You do things sometimes…”

“What things?”

Q tilts his head, eyeing the unit speculatively. “When we were flying back from Innsbruck… after Silva… you couldn’t seem to decide if you wanted to kiss me or not.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t have enough to data to know if holding you as tightly I wanted to would cause you pain.”

“Okay. You talk to Felix when she’s agitated.”

“I’m imitating your interactions with her.”

One side of Q’s mouth lifts. He’s amused. “I’m fairly sure you kissed my head when we were leaving the warehouse in Innsbruck.”

“It’s a gesture humans often use with their partners when they need comfort. You needed comfort.”

Q laughs. “Okay, okay, you’re actions are entirely deliberate.” He kisses the unit, just a quick press of his lips.

007 doesn’t understand his amusement. “Would you prefer my erections were involuntary?”

“No.” Q is obviously startled by the question. “It doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of variations amongst humans… regarding sexuality. It isn’t unheard of for one partner to enjoy sex—to experience arousal, technically, while the other does. Unusual, perhaps, but… what?”

Q has noticed the unit’s indulgent smile.

“Oh,” he says with a smile of his own. “You know all of this already. You and your research.”

“And your tendency to ramble is endearing,” 007 adds.

Lifting his face, Q kisses him, this one with more intent than the last. But the unit judges an erection isn’t expected just yet. Q isn’t hard; he simply seems to be enjoying the proximity. 007 pulls him closer and Q relaxes into the embrace.

“If this is ever something you don’t want,” he hums. “You can tell me.”

“I think you underestimate how much I enjoy being in physical contact with you.”

“You do like it when I touch you.”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Like this?” Q presses his lips 007’s cheek.

“Mm.”

“And this?” Another kiss; beneath his ear. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” Q mutters when the unit hums an agreement. “Have physical contact all over the bed and then we’ll see if the dream algorithms work.”

At his murmur of assent, Q takes 007’s hand and pulls him toward the bedroom.

\--

“You don’t have to jerk me off if you’d rather not.”

Q pauses, cock already buried deep inside the unit. He’s breathless when he says, “What? You don’t want me to…”

“You seemed worried about my reactions.”

“Not about…” He closes his eyes, most likely to still the urge to move; there isn’t any need for him to do so. 007 grips his arse, driving him deeper inside and Q grunts, eyes glazing for a second before he focuses on the unit’s face. “Not your reactions. I’m just not—” The words are cut off for a moan. “007,” he huffs and then looks confused. “James…” He’s obviously not entirely comfortable using the human name. And he’s panting again. “Wait.”

007 still its movements. Q’s hand is still wrapped around his cock but he’s no longer moving. “Is something wrong?”

“No. No, just… give me a moment.” He takes a slow breath and his voice is serious when he asks, “Do you want me to jerk you off?”

“Even if I can’t feel the sensations the way you do, I like being involved in the process.”

“You can still be involved.” His arm is straining and without warning, he pulls out. “You can fuck me if you’d rather.”

“You like fucking me.”

“Yes, but, it’s not just about me. It can’t be.”

“I have no sexual desires.”

Sighing, Q runs a hand down his face and sits back on his heels; his erection bounces with the movement. “Yes you do. You have preferences in equipment and which agents you’d rather work with, so why not sex?”

“The guns and agents don’t involve your comfort.”

Q’s mouth quirks, but it’s not quite a smile. “You do realise that a relationship involves two people.”

“Does it really?” the unit says with sarcasm, which Q ignores.

“And even if you’re not technically a person, it’s still involves you.”

“Not technically?” 007 echoes with a twist to its lip. Q bites his own, but the unit can’t tell if he’s amused or concerned. “There’s nothing technical about it. I’m not a person.”

Q sighs. “But you’re not a machine either. You’re not,” he says when 007 tries to object. “You can’t see how much of an individual you are, but you are. You’re not just a sophisticated computer.” He says worriedly, “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“You’re not.”

“So, then tell me,” Q says as he leans over him, plants his hands on either side of 007’s head. “Don’t think about it, don’t try to decide how I’ll respond. Just tell me. Do you want to fuck me? ”

“Not just now.”

Q smiles slowly. “Do you like it when I fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it when I bring you to orgasm?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” And when the unit hesitates, he tuts, “Don’t think about it. Why do you like it?”

“I like when you touch me.”

Q’s smile softens. “What if I touched you in other ways while we fuck? Would you like that better?”

“I don’t know,” 007 admits. “I don’t have enough data.”

“We can work on that. But see what I mean? Two people… okay, fine,” Q says with a dramatic sigh when the unit raises an eyebrow, “one person and one highly individuated artificial intelligence. Better?”

Q is teasing him, but the unit enjoys his teasing. “Much.”

Without warning, Q drops his weight, kisses him enthusiastically. “I love you so much,” he mutters into the unit’s mouth. “You have no idea.”

But the unit thinks it might. At least as far as it understands love. He cradles Q’s face, pulling him away gently. Q blinks at him, breathless and confused. Until 007 says, “I love you too.”

Q’s eyes are bright before he leans down to kiss him again, this time with intent.

\--

“I’d like to take you on a date,” Q announces in the middle of monitoring Agent Millace from his flat.

“A date?”

“Not a test run or practice for anything. But a proper date, where I pick you up and pay for your dinner.”

“Technically, you always pay when we go somewhere.”

“Technically, MI6 pays.” He smiles. “Are you avoiding the question?”

“You haven’t asked a question.”

Q bites at his lip to still his amusement. “Will you have dinner with me?”

“Yes.”

“Wait,” Q says, halting the unit as it leans in to kiss him. “Probably not dinner. You don’t eat.”

“I can eat.”

“Yes but if I’m taking you on a date, we should do something you’ll enjoy. What would you like to do? You’re laughing at me,” Q says, poking the unit’s chest with the words.

007 catches his wrist, brings him closer with a smile. "No special accommodations are necessary. Dinner is a customary first date.”

“I want to do something you’ll enjoy.”

“Have I ever given you the impression that I don’t enjoy every moment spent with you? No matter what we’re doing?”

The question makes Q smile. “No,” he says as he presses himself to the unit’s chest, chin lifting as he seeks a kiss; 007 obliges. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do something special. Something just for you.”

“You gave me the ability to dream." The algorithms were a complete success, and the ability to simulate dreams has been a fascinating experience. "And I’ve never done anything special for you.” It seems a reasonable point, which means Q’s grin is unexpected.

“Do you remember the ball of fur that sleeps between our heads?”

The ball of fur in question is currently stalking a blueberry across the kitchen floor. They watch her together for a moment, interrupted by Q’s lips as he kisses down the unit’s jaw. “Not to mention the sex—”

“I enjoy that as well.”

“The tea and blankets. Offers of massages…”

007’s palms slide beneath his jumper. “Is that a request?”

“No,” Q says with a smile. “But I’ll take one if you’re offering.”

“A massage is always on offer.” The unit motions to the monitor. “What about Millace?”

“He can find his own date.” Q chuckles at his own joke, and the unit smiles. “If only,” Q sighs.

“I can massage your shoulders while you work,” 007 tells him. “Take off your shirt.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever told me to do something.”

“Do you object?” the unit asks, even though it can see very well that he doesn’t.

“Not at all. It can be nice to have someone else lead.”

Taking that as it’s meant, 007 pulls his jumper over his head, smirking at the way his hair stands up from the effect of static electricity.

“What? Q asks.

“I like rumpling you,” the unit explains and for some reason that makes Q smile. He kisses the unit before turning back to his computer. He rolls his shoulders, a clear invitation to begin.

To be allowed to touch him is no longer rare, but 007 still takes a moment to look him over from this perspective, and to caress gently when his hands touch down on Q’s back.

“Your hands feel nice.”  

“I can increase their temperature if you like,” the unit offers. It can see the immediate confusion.

“I forget you can do that…”

“Would you prefer I not remind—”

“No,” Q says firmly, twisting his neck so that they’re eye to eye. “I want you to be you. No matter what idiotic thing I’ve said in the past. You’re fine just the way you are.”

Smiling, 007 teases, “Can I assume you’re used to me now, then?”

Q looks startled for a moment, but then he seems to realise he’s being teased. He uses his elbow to nudge the unit’s stomach. “You’re meant to be giving me a massage.”

“Mm.” 007 raises its core temperature, even though Q hasn’t specifically asks him to. He’ll enjoy it though, he has no doubt. Evident already by the way he hums in appreciation as 007 works his muscles. So many times it’s offered to do this—to be allowed to help him. The result is more gratifying than he expected.

007 moves closer, so it can nuzzle the back of Q’s neck while he works. Q reaches back to squeeze his hip; over the signature, notably, and continues on with his work.

\--

“Where is he taking you?” Lynd asks curiously as she maneuvres the newest in MI6’s line of Aston Martins around the track. 007 allowed her to take it out first, on the condition he come along.

“He wants to surprise me.”

“Dinner and dancing?”

“He said we should do something else,” 007 explains. “Since I don’t need to eat.”

“But it’s a classic.”

“It would be my first choice,” he admits.

“Then, tell him.” A sharp turn, expertly executed. They share a grin. “You’re going to love it,” she tells him.

“If you ever relinquish the wheel.”

“I may not.”

She does, eventually, parking the car near the edge of the track and exiting the driver’s seat. Q and Tanner are waiting farther along. “How many more cars do you think you can wheedle out of our quartermaster?” she asked as she leans on the roof.

“Wheedle? I mentioned this one as a passing comment.”

She laughs. “And you don’t think it had anything to do with the fact that you were the one asking?”

“I don’t follow.”

“He adores you,” she says, pushing off the car and moving around the bonnet. “Trust me. Ask him for another and he’ll indulge you.”

An interesting concept, but probably one he shouldn’t abuse if she’s right.

She mistakes his silence for disbelief. “You would do anything for him, yeah?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, she slides past him and into the passenger seat. “Works both ways with humans. Get in, before I change my mind.”

He takes her place and revs the engine. “Does the same apply to you and Eve?” he asks as he pulls back onto the course. “Or does it only work with monogamous couples?”

She’s staring at him.

“Eve and I are not a couple.”

“You sleep with her.”

“And more than half the agents employed by MI6—several of Q’s assistants as well, not to mention staff members. And you.”

“You forgot Leiter.”

“Mm,” she agrees with a slowly curving smile. “More than once. And hopefully again. M’s attempting to steal him.”

“You think she’ll succeed?”

“I’ve yet to see her fail. Unless we’re speaking of Silva.”

“I’d rather not.”

“No? You’re not upset about killing him? You can’t be…”

007’s lip curls. “He threatened Q. Of course I’m not.”

She smiles, and then nudges his arm. “Come on, Bond, you drive like my grandmother.”

The unit frowns even as he depresses the accelerator. He mentioned Q’s suggestion that she might use the surname but hearing it is still unexpected.

“Would you rather I call you 007?” she asks with a smile.

007 runs it through his processors, attempting to decide if it’s preferable to the 007 designation. “Bond is fine,” he finally says, although he doesn’t mind the 007 designation.

“It suits you,” she tells him, but the unit can’t decide if it agrees. But when he and Lynd return with the car, to a particularly pleased-looking Q, there’s more evidence to consider.

“Well?” Q says in greeting. “How was it?”

“Whatever modifications you have in mind,” Lynd says, “Bond has better ones.”

Q’s confusion over the name is obvious, but he shifts easily from it to ask with a smile, “Does he?”

“Are you really surprised? You created me.”

Q doesn’t frown at the reminder, which seems notable in itself.   “Good point. You’ll tell me on the way back to headquarters. Lynd, you’re with Tanner?”

“Of course.” She smirks at 007, eyebrows suggestive. He rolls his eyes and waits for Q to get in the car.

“You asked her to call you Bond.”

“I mentioned your suggestion.”

“You seem less enthusiastic about it than you were about my using James.”

007 considers the veracity of the observation. “I don’t have a preference for the moniker she uses.”

“You don’t mind 007?”

“Should I?”

“That’s something else that has to be your choice,” Q says as he gets into the car. Still confused, 007 slides in beside him. “Whatever choice you make, it’s the right one.”

“I don’t think I care either way,” 007 says after making sure Q is fastened before following Lynd. “Which seems incorrect.”

“You can’t be incorrect in something like this,” Q assures him with a smile. “Once Lynd starts using Bond around headquarters, others will as well. You’ll probably end up with a mix. And if you don’t mind…”

“I don’t.”

“It’s okay that you like being an artificial intelligence.”

007 glances over at him, the words unexpected. Q smiles at him again, puts a hand on his knee, rubbing over the fabric of his trousers with his thumb.

“You’ve always been very adamant that you’re not human. You don’t have to pretend to be. You’re unique and it’s fine to be proud of that.”

007 can’t experience pride, but he simply nods as its neural net works at an accelerated pace in an attempt to make sense of the conflicting messages.

\--

“They probably won’t be thrilled to see me,” Q says as he runs his fingers down 007’s silk tie. “Technically, I’m their boss.”

“Lynd and Ronson don’t strike me as people concerned with technicalities. And Eve will be there.”

“I know. But it would be good for you to do this on your own if you want. Cultivating friendships and going out by yourself. And Lynd and Ronson… they’re different. And I trust them, so—”

“Trust them?” the unit asks, head tilting with curiosity. “What do you think anyone might do to me?”

“Not that they’ll do anything. Not physically. But you’re so new to everything, and I don’t mean you can’t do what you want. You can, but I’d like to be sure you’re being looked after.” He pauses and he looks anxious. “Is that all right?”

“That you want to protect me?” 007 asks quietly. He chooses to answer with a kiss and that seems perfectly fine with Q. When he pulls back, he seems content. Squeezes 007’s fingers before making certain Felix is settled.

“She’ll be all right, do you think?” Q asks as he fusses over her. “We really should look for another cat, so she won’t have to be alone. Perhaps I should have asked R to look after her.”

“She’ll be fine,” 007 assures him. Puts an arm around his waist to guide him to the door while Felix is distracted with her food.

Q sighs as he locks the door, but by the time they reach the pub, he has relaxed considerably.

Ronson and Lynd are already waiting for them.

Lynd greets 007 with a kiss for its cheek and Ronson as well, grinning his habitual grin.

“Eve’s getting drinks,” Ronson says for Q’s benefit and he smiles.

“I’ll join her. Does anyone want anything?” Both of them already have drinks in front of them. “James?”

The query is unexpected, but they are at a pub amongst humans so it makes sense that Q would want him to blend in. “Gin,” he says and Q doesn’t look surprised or approving. Or disapproving either. He simply nods, squeezes 007’s forearm and moves toward Eve.

“Since when do you drink?” Lynd asks.

“He drinks,” Ronson says, raising his glass in a salute. It’s a callback to the night he offered his services as a sex trainer. Both of them drank that night, the unit simply to fit in. To keep in the agent’s good graces. He no longer needs to do that.

“Do you?” Lynd folds her arms on the table, eyes bright with interest. It’s a curious question, rather than her usual teasing.

“I can do.”

“I’ve never seen you drink.”

“You’ve never seen me do a lot of things.” The flirting is automatic, and it confuses 007 for a moment, but Lynd doesn’t seem to find anything remarkable about it. But then that may be because her attention has been diverted. To the bar, and to Eve chatting up a man who looks very eager to invite her home.

“You’re certain you prefer to remain single?” 007 asks, not smirking because he’s not really intending to tease. Lynd narrows her eyes as she shifts her attention from Eve.

“This is Q’s influence.”

“Not this time. Jealousy is a remarkably common emotion amongst humans.”

Her nose wrinkles with distaste. “Not this human.”

“Mm.”

“Have you always been this irritating?”

“A side effect of the self-awareness.”

“He does have a point,” Ronson adds and Vesper groans.

Ronson and 007 share a grin.

\--

“There are some things we need to discuss,” Q says, apropos of nothing as far as 007 can tell. He’s in the middle of coordinating three field agents. “One of which is M wanting to speak with you.”

007 raises his eyebrows. “I assume that means she’s forgiven me Silva.”

“She wants to thank you, actually. His jealousy toward you and me wasn’t the end of his plan. He’s apparently been playing double agent for some time now. She said it was to everyone’s benefit that you killed him before his plans went too far.”

“She intends to allow me to go out into the field again?”

Q looks up from his computer, surprise making his eyebrows climb. “She wasn’t actively stopping you. Are you getting restless? You have those new recruits tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’m capable of being restless,” 007 points out, drawing nearer to watch over his shoulder as Q reroutes Carter through Cairo.

“Figure of speech.”

“Mm, an inaccurate one.”

“My apologies,” Q says with a quick smile. They’re in his office with the door closed, so 007 kisses his neck lightly, which makes the smile brighten before he returns to his work.

“Besides,” 007 says, “what else would I do if I didn’t return to the field?”

Q makes two final adjustments for Carter and turns to face him. His tone has shifted to a somber one, “That’s another conversation we need to have. You don’t have to continue as an agent. M would kill me for saying this but you can choose that as well as everything else.”

“I think both Mallory and M would disagree.”

“You’re still my property—technically,” he says hastily although the unit is certain its face did nothing to indicate disapproval. “As far as legality is concerned. If you don’t want to be an agent, you don’t have to be.”

“I like working in the field.”

“Of course you do.”

“Because you programmed me to enjoy it.”

“Not to _enjoy_ it, technically.”

007 considers that. “How am I to know which part is me, and which the programming?”

Q frowns, which doesn’t bode well. “Honestly?” he says as he places his hands on the unit’s chest. “I don’t know. But that’s something humans struggle with as well. Perhaps not to the same degree, but we do. Nature versus nuture, the great debate. How much is born into us, and how much is influenced by our environment?”

“I don’t think it’s the same,” 007 says with a frown of its own.

“I know. And I wish I had an answer for you,” Q says quietly. “But I think it’s important that you… continue to question? That sounds—”

“Condescending?” 007 suggests with a smile.

Q’s own smile is rueful as he drops his hands. “Sorry, yeah. We’ll have to work out that as well, you know. I’m still your quartermaster even if I’m not your…”

007 tilts his head, interested to know how Q will term himself. He makes a vague gesture with his hand and doesn’t continue.

“You’re still my creator,” 007 says, and it makes Q frown, which was not the intention. “I know it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It doesn’t.”

“If I’m not allowed to lie to _you_ …”

“It doesn’t,” Q says in a firmer tone. “I’m just surprised you still think of me that way. Especially now that I don’t control your every move.”

“The fact that you’re my creator has nothing to do with whether or not you control me. It never did.”

Q is studying his face, curious. “You really don’t resent me, do you?”

Even though the question is a serious one, 007 teases, “Did you think I was harbouring a secret grudge?”

“I was afraid you might. Especially once I realised what an arse I was most of the time.”

“You weren’t an arse.”

Q smiles. “You only say that because you like me. I cringe when I think of some of the things I said to you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I should,” Q says with a smile, “but it’s probably best not to dwell. Unless you want to dwell, and then we can absolutely discuss—”

007 has never used kissing as a means to divert Q’s attention, but it works well in this instance. He hums softly into the kiss, worries silenced as he puts his arms around 007’s neck. A sound technique, the unit decides, as he pulls him close.

They spend several moments kissing without further intent. 007 pulls back a little, when the kisses slow, to ask, “What else do we need to talk about?”

“Oh.” Q straightens, as though preparing himself for a serious conversation. “I wanted to know how you felt about getting your own place.”

007 stares at him, attempting to make sense of the words. “You want me to stay somewhere else?”

“No,” Q answers and the unit can detect no dishonesty. “But you should have the option if you want. More things I didn’t account for. A place for you to live or a salary… I’m negotiating that with M, which I should have asked you about, sorry.”

“It would be prudent for me to have a salary,” 007 says slowly, “but unless you want me to stay somewhere else—”

“Not stay,” Q says with a smile. “A place to live. And no, I don’t want you to live somewhere else. I want you to live at my flat. I want it to be our flat, but it has to be your choice.”

“I like living there,” 007 tells him.

Q smiles. “But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

Q kisses him, looking satisfied. “We also need to discuss the unit Mallory wants me to build. He hasn’t given up on it. I want to use a different template and he’s asked me to take out the personality algorithms—”

“To create another version of 006?”

“Without the fatal flaw, but essentially yes. Not Boothroyd’s template. But I don’t want to use yours either. I thought you could help me.” He frowns when 007 doesn’t immediately agree. “What’s wrong?”

“I have reservations,” 007 admits. “To build another unit while deliberately taking away its ability to individuate… ” He can’t find the correct words to convey his concerns.

“Unethical,” Q suggests with a small smile. “I agree, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t let him have you.”

“He can’t have me,” 007 tells him. “I’m in control of my own program.”

“Which we're avoiding telling Mallory.”

“Mm.”

“If you have another solution,” Q says with the light of amusement in his eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Re-activate 005 and see that it malfunctions in front of him. Terrify him out of the idea.”

Q smiles slowly. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

“I am what you made me.”

“Then we’re both clever,” Q says, still smiling, no hesitation at all to accept his role as creator. It’s difficult to kiss him while they’re both smiling.

\--

007 runs his fingers down the blue tie Q seems to like so well. He often comments on how well it complements his eyes. Now that it knows Q finds his face attractive, it lends a different perspective to the amount of time he spends studying his features. 007 understands that it still confuses him to be in a romantic relationship with an artificial intelligence, but he’s also made it clear that he doesn’t want the unit to change its behavior because of his confusion.

Humans are remarkably adaptable so the unit has already concluded that the confusion is unlikely to continue indefinitely. It’s a conclusion with which the unit is satisfied. Q is only human, after all.

After another glance in the mirror to be sure all is in order, the unit leaves the bedroom. Q is waiting in the living room, stroking Felix’s fur and reassuring her that they’ll be back soon.

“No need to worry that you’ll be left alone again,” he murmurs, in a voice pitched to soothe. It’s the same voice Q uses when he’s attempting to soothe the unit. 007 smiles as he watches them, pleased, even after so much time has passed, that he made the choice to bring the cat home for Q.

He makes her happy.

Q looks up, smile brightening when he sees the unit. And not for the first time, 007 thinks it might do the same for Q. He certainly looks happy as he crosses the room, Felix still cradled in his arms. “You look lovely,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss him lightly before pulling back to let his gaze wander up and down—a sign that he will likely be keen for sex after their date.

007 smiles in return and says, “So do you. The suit is well chosen.”

Q presses his palm to his abdomen. “Is it?” There’s a faint flush on his cheeks; pleased at the compliment. “It’s not too much?”

007 steps back to give him the full force of his appreciation. “It’s perfect. You should wear dinner jackets more often.” Every day, preferably.

“It’s my only one.”

“We’ll have to fix that, then.”

“Are you offering to take me shopping?”

“The student becomes the master.”

Q laughs. “Where did you hear that?”

“A good agent never reveals his sources.”

“I think you’re mixing your metaphors, now,” Q says. 007 smiles and Q hands over Felix. “Tell her we’ll be back for her.”

“She can’t understand me.”

“You don’t know that.”

007 studies her face. She’s purring, which isn’t an indication either way. But since it seems to be something that will comfort Q in some way he says dutifully, “We’ll be home in a few hours.”

\--

“Here we are,” the waiter, a solicitous man, says as he shows them to their table.

Before the waiter has a chance, 007 pulls back one of the chairs, eyebrows rising as he glances at Q. Q, his face flushing faintly pink, sits with a murmured, “Thank you.” Smiling, 007 takes the chair opposite while the waiter sets menus down and fusses with the silver.

“Shall I send our sommelier round?” he asks after reciting the list of specials for the night.

“Please,” Q agrees, although 007 could have easily selected a wine. He’s programmed to rival a sommelier. Once the waiter leaves, Q asks, “You’re sure this is all right?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted,” 007 assures him. It’s exactly what Q deserves, a night where he has nothing to worry about except choosing a meal.

“Even though you don’t eat?” There’s worry in Q’s tone, beneath the amusement.

“You do.”

Q smiles as he ducks his head to look at the menu. He’s pleased, pink still dusting his cheeks. He’s come to regard 007’s concern for his well-being as a positive attribute; one he enjoys. Which suits 007 very well, since he has no intention of toning down his protection algorithms.

As they order—both food and wine—he notes Q’s glances toward the dance floor. Once they’re left alone again 007 asks, “Would you care to dance?”

Q’s brow furrows. “I don’t really…”

“That’s the beauty of having a partner who’s been programmed to be a skilled dancer.”

Q smiles. “Then, I accept.”

007 pulls his chair out for him again, takes his hand and leads him to the small dance floor. Q fits very well in his arms as he pulls him close, a hand at Q’s waist. “Just follow my lead,” he murmurs, low, against his ear.

“I think I should have been doing that for awhile now.”

Confused, 007 hums a question but Q just smiles and slides closer. Content to be confused as long as Q is in such close proximity, 007 sways them to the rhythm of the music.

\--

“I think that was a very successful first date,” Q says, sounding extremely self-satisfied as they walk hand in hand down the pavement toward the bridge near their flat; of which Q is so fond.

007 hums in agreement; checks the temperature as they draw nearer to the bridge. The wind is picking up. “Are you cold?” he asks, even as he takes off his dinner jacket.

“A little.” Q accepts the jacket, pulling it closed once 007 arranges it around his shoulders.

“Better?”

“Much.” Q turns his head to kiss him, his back pressed against the rail. “Everything is.”

007 traces his cheekbone with a thumb, smiling as he watches the lines around Q’s eyes deepen. And even though he isn’t capable of experiencing emotions, not the way humans do, he thinks this is as close to happiness as he can possibly get.

He draws Q to him, and kisses him. Just because he wants to.

_~End~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that, as they say. Thank you for allowing me to share. And thank you so much to KingJulian for the inspiration. I've been so happy writing this fic and I'm forever grateful.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustration for Human Error](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450909) by [procoffeinating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procoffeinating/pseuds/procoffeinating)
  * [Illustration for chapter 3 of Human Error](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477950) by [procoffeinating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procoffeinating/pseuds/procoffeinating)




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